


These and Those

by unrestedjade



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: AUs a-plenty, F/F, M/M, Multi, Rom-Com Shenanigans, Unhealthy Relationships, it's like shipping bingo over here, petty saltiness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-09-10 23:39:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 45,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8944015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrestedjade/pseuds/unrestedjade
Summary: A place to stash gift-fic, oneshots, etc. Everything in this collection will contain some degree of shipping! Organized, yeah!





	1. someone to watch over

**Author's Note:**

> For crawlycrawlies, the Absolute God formerly known as Flowey needs to get his life together now that he's no longer a soulless husk. His fan club will back him up, right?  
> Content: Asriel/Papyrus, references to a very dead Frisk, Asriel can't quite shake the whole "creepy bastard" thing.

Flowey said something important was going to happen at the castle, and to bring all his friends. He always had the best advice, so if he said Papyrus should do something, Papyrus listened every time. Something good always happened.

 

Something bad happened this time. It was all a confusing blur, too fast and chaotic to process.

 

He wasn’t in the castle anymore. Papyrus flinched at the sudden brightness, shielding his eye sockets with his arm. The air felt different, smelled new. Wherever he was, it was huge and open, with high ceilings and distant walls.

 

“It’s incredible, isn’t it, friend?” said a familiar-but-not voice. “I wanted you to be the first to see.”

 

Squinting against the light (where was that light coming from?), Papyrus turned toward the sound. Still dazzled, it took a few seconds of blinking before his vision started to adjust, the moving blob resolving into a large figure that looked not unlike King Asgore, though slimmer and beardless.

 

The monster laughed gently. “Sorry, I didn’t think it would be so bright out. You’ll get used to it in a minute.”

 

While the light grew less painful and his vision cleared, Papyrus took in his surroundings. The ground was normal enough, and there were trees like Snowdin, and—

 

Papyrus yelped, stumbling backward to land hard on the rocky ground, wide, terrified eye sockets staring upward into empty blue nothing. Where was the _ceiling?_

“Yes,” the strange monster said, smiling down at him. “That was my first reaction, too. You’ve seen pictures of the sky before, haven’t you? In your car magazines. Of course, a picture can’t capture the true effect.”

 

The sky?

 

“I didn’t realize it was so…not there.” Papyrus accepted the hand the other monster offered to pull him to his feet. No ceiling. No walls. Was this the surface, then? Papyrus kept his back to the sloping cliff face behind them, finding reassurance in its stony solidity. He realized he was still gripping the stranger’s hand, and let go, blushing. “Sorry.”

 

“No need to apologize; that was nice.” The monster turned his own hand over, studying it in the light. Claws peeked from fine white fur. “It’s been so long since I last had hands, you know? It’s amazing.”

 

Papyrus watched the monster’s odd behavior, bemused. “Are you alright?” Finding himself suddenly on the surface without warning after…after whatever had transpired in the castle definitely had _him_ out of sorts. Maybe this monster was equally bewildered.

 

“Yes, Papyrus, I’ve literally never been better,” the monster said, feeling his own horns and ears, fangs exposed in a giddy grin. “How do I look? Cool?”

 

That didn’t strike Papyrus as a terribly relevant question, considering their present circumstances. “Um, sure,” he said, obligingly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t quite place where I know you from…?” The voice was somehow so familiar, and he knew Papyrus by name, but Papyrus was certain he’d never met this vaguely Asgore-esque monster in his life.

 

The monster started in surprise, then laughed, covering his mouth politely with one hand. The laugh was familiar, too. “I’m such a dummy! Of course you wouldn’t recognize me like this. _I_ don’t even recognize me!” He reached out to take Papyrus’ hand, gazing at him fondly. “I’ll make it a riddle, but it’s a really easy one. You started a fan club for me— I think because you thought I was lonely. You made shirts for us and everything, but I couldn’t wear mine because it was too big. It’d be too small, now,” he added, with a lopsided grin.

 

Papyrus looked back into the monster’s ink-black eyes. None of this made any sense. “…Flowey?”

 

The monster swept him up into a tight hug. He spun them in a circle, leaving Papyrus dizzy. “That’s right! Isn’t it incredible?” No wonder he’d seemed so familiar. The voice was deeper, but he spoke and laughed the same way Flowey did, and had all the same mannerisms.

 

“How?” Papyrus wheezed, ribcage compressed by strong arms. “Aren’t you a flower?” A sudden change of species was no trifling detail. At least, Papyrus had never heard of it happening to anyone before now.

 

The monster-who-was-apparently-actually-Flowey laughed, nuzzling the top of Papyrus’ skull. “Let’s just say I was under a curse, and it’s broken now, along with the Barrier. That’s good enough, right?” He brought his face down closer, one satiny ear dragging across Papyrus’ forehead. “Can’t you feel them? I’d think you’d be able to, so close up.”

 

All Papyrus felt was squished. He made a subtle attempt to wriggle out of Flowey’s grip, but with his arms pinned and his feet dangling off the ground he couldn’t make much headway. He gave up, hoping that Flowey would put him down soon. “Feel what?”

 

Flowey relented, setting Papyrus back on his feet. “The souls, silly! How do you think I got us up to the surface in the first place, huh?” He placed his hand over his chest. “They were able to free me from that awful vessel I was trapped in. So long,” he said, face darkening. “I was trapped for so long, Papyrus. You have no idea what it was like.”

 

Papyrus patted him on the arm in a vague comforting gesture while he worked to process everything he’d been told. It was a lot to take in, and he was well out of his depth. “The Barrier is gone,” he said, walking himself through the chaos of the last…hour? Had it even been that long? “And you…” He crossed his arms. “I don’t understand. The king only had six souls.”

 

“There were seven souls inside the castle,” Flowey said, with a humorless smirk.

 

A cold prickle crept up Papyrus’ spine. Yes. Something bad had happened in the castle.

 

“Where is the human?” Papyrus was pretty sure he already knew the answer to that question.

 

“They’re in a better place.” Flowey’s hand grasped at the fabric of his robes for a moment, distorting the rune emblazoned over his chest. “I had to do it, friend, or who knows how much longer we’d have had to wait.”

 

“They were just a child,” Papyrus whispered, quietly horrified.

 

Flowey scoffed. “That doesn’t matter.”

 

“How could it not matter?” Everything had been working out so well, and the fighting had stopped, and everyone had been happy, and then… No, he didn’t want to think about the rest. Papyrus shook his head. “They were a good person. We were friends.”

 

“Aren’t _we_ friends?” Flowey snarled, leaning down at Papyrus’ eye level. “Why are you more concerned about them? Their troubles are over!”

 

Papyrus jumped back, startled. “Of course we’re friends, I just…You…” He didn’t want to finish his sentence. _You killed them._ Flowey had killed that nice little human, and no one had been able to stop him.

 

The fierceness bled out of Flowey’s expression, and he stepped forward to lay heavy hands on Papyrus’ shoulders. “I’m sorry, Papyrus, I didn’t mean to frighten you. You don’t have to be scared of me, okay?” He ducked down to make eye contact, though it wavered. “I’m your best friend. I’ll never hurt you or any monster. I promise.”

 

That shaky assertion brought a new question to mind, one Papyrus couldn’t believe hadn’t occurred to him until now. “Where is everyone?” Were they okay? The king was already injured, and Sans was fragile, and-

 

“Your brother and my parents and everyone else are all safe.” Flowey squeezed Papyrus’ shoulders in reassurance. “Please don’t worry. I wanted to bring you all up here one at a time, so I could see your reactions.” He grinned sheepishly. “Maybe that isn’t the best idea, though. This isn’t working out the way I hoped. I thought you’d be happy. And impressed, maybe.”

 

“Flowey…” Papyrus didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t want to upset his friend again, and not only out of concern. Back there in the castle, he really had been afraid of Flowey, and that fear wasn’t going away. Something at the back of his mind, far, far back at the base of his skull, cautioned him not to take Flowey’s reassurances to heart.

 

Flowey let him go, crossing his arms. Scanning the horizon— much farther away than Papyrus was comfortable with— he stared at a distant city with tall, ugly buildings. “I don’t think I’ll go by that name anymore,” he said, pensive. “Now that I’m alive, I guess I should go back to the old one.”

 

“If you want,” Papyrus said, unaware that Flowey had ever been called anything else. “What is it?”

 

Flowey turned to him again, brow raised in confusion. “I told it to you, didn’t I? I’m Asriel Dreemurr. I explained all that back when…” he trailed off, scowling. “No, that must have been earlier. You wouldn’t remember anymore.”

 

Any hope Papyrus might have had of not being totally overwhelmed died with that last bit of impossible information. “I may need to sit down,” he said. He dropped onto a nearby boulder, overcooked-noodle legs refusing to hold him up.

 

Flow— no, _Asriel_ knelt down beside him, apparently unwilling to give him even a second to compose himself. “How much _do_ you remember?” His voice was soft, but his grip on Papyrus’ knee betrayed his urgency.

 

“About what?” Papyrus asked, with a helpless shrug. He’d surpassed his limit for strangeness.

 

“Everything,” Asriel said. “Everything from the last…oh, I can’t even tell.” He let out a bark of nervous laughter. “It could be a few months, or years. Centuries, maybe. It all feels the same to me.”

 

At Papyrus’ blank stare, Asriel went on. “Do you remember doing the same things over and over? Or conversations where you already know everything you’re saying and hearing? Bad dreams?” He waited, breathless, for an answer.

 

Papyrus swallowed a lump in his throat and tried to slow his breathing. He didn’t know what Asriel wanted to hear. For some reason, that specific anxiety felt familiar, like slipping into an old habit he’d never had. “I’m sorry,” he said, laying one hand over Asriel’s. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

Asriel sighed— whether out of relief or disappointment, Papyrus couldn’t say. “In that case, I don’t know how to begin explaining myself. I owe a lot of apologies to a lot of monsters, you most of all. You were only ever nice to me, and I treated you horribly, and I didn’t feel bad about it.”

 

“It’s okay,” Papyrus said. What else was he supposed to say? He had no idea what was going on. Asriel was acting strangely and it was making the magic prickle through his bones, restless and uneasy.

 

Asriel grabbed Papyrus by the upper arms, nearly overbalancing him. “Don’t say that when you don’t know what you’re excusing.” His wide eyes were empty and dark. Not in the normal way, like a socket— they seemed to swallow up any light that got too close. It was unnerving to see them so close up. “The things I put you through,” he said, face twisted in shame, “you can’t just brush it off like it’s nothing.”

 

Papyrus shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, some of his bewildered frustration coming through in his voice. What did Asriel want? “I don’t know what you mean. What did you do? It can’t be that bad if I don’t even remember it.”

 

But Asriel didn’t seem to be listening to him, consumed by a sudden thought. “I could make you remember,” he murmured, talking more to himself than to Papyrus. “That shouldn’t be too hard, to tie all the timelines together in your head.” He frowned, idly rubbing Papyrus’ arms in his grip. “But you’d hate me for sure, then.”

 

“I don’t hate you.” Papyrus had lost the plot again, but Asriel looked so miserable he had to say something. Besides, he wasn’t sure he liked the way his friend was talking. In fact, he was sure he _didn’t_ like it, even if he didn’t know why.

 

“Ha, that’s easy for you to say now. Although…” Asriel’s sulk abated, and he peered at Papyrus appraisingly. “I could always _make_ you forgive me, too, if you didn’t want to do it on your own.” He reached up to touch his fingertips to Papyrus’ temple.

 

Papyrus scrambled back from Asriel’s hand, falling off the boulder to sprawl on the ground. “Don’t!” he snapped, summoning a fence of bones when Asriel moved to follow him. “You’re acting very strange. Please…give me some room to think. Give me one minute _._ ” In the grip of mindless panic, all he knew was he didn’t want Asriel to touch him.

 

“Papyrus?” Asriel stared at him, stricken, through the gaps in the bones. “Don’t be scared,” he said, voice quavering. He sounded as though he were on the verge of tears.

 

“I’m not,” Papyrus lied, bones rattling as he sat trembling on the rocky ground. What had Asriel meant to do to him? He couldn’t explain it, but something had felt profoundly _wrong_ just then in a way that left him struggling not to run away.

 

On his side of the boulder, Asriel paced the length of the bone fence. “I’m sorry,” he said, sniffling and weepy. “I’m being clingy and weird, and it’s bothering you.”

 

Papyrus didn’t reply, wishing Asriel would be quiet for a moment and let him sort everything out. He hugged himself, for what little comfort it gave him. If only Sans were here right now. He’d be able to untangle all this craziness and keep a cool head. As hard as Papyrus was trying to be calm and brave, he wasn’t managing well at all.

 

“I’m still going to make it up to you, Papyrus,” Asriel said, wiping his nose on his sleeve with a wet snort. “Everything. I promise. Even if you don’t remember.”

 

Pushing himself up to stand on shaky legs, Papyrus watched Asriel’s frenetic pacing. “That isn’t necessary.” He tried to make his voice soothing, like Sans did for him when he was wound up over a difficult day. “You don’t need to put yourself out on my account.”

 

But once again, Asriel wasn’t listening. “I can give you anything you ask for, you know.” A wide, shaky smile pulled at his lips. “Anything at all, and I won’t judge you. I’m the last person who’d have any right to.”

 

“I want to go home,” Papyrus said. That was truly all he wanted at the moment, to be at home where everything was normal and safe.

 

Asriel rolled his strange, light-canceling eyes and laughed. “Ha. Come on, Papyrus. There must be something I can do. All you have to do is say the word, and I can remake the whole world for you. I’d be glad to.” He stepped forward, heedless of the bones as he walked right through them. They twisted as he touched them, distorting into weird shapes and colors before dissipating harmlessly against his body.

 

Papyrus backed up a step. Though the panic was rising again, he resisted the urge to form any more attacks. Clearly it wouldn’t keep Asriel away, and it might make him mad. He’d never had to worry about making someone mad before, not like this. But the thought slipped into his head, well-worn and natural as though it had been part of his life for years. He shook his head as if the motion would dislodge the new, old-feeling fear.

 

“There’s no need to be coy about this, friend,” Asriel said, smiling. “I could look in your head to see what you want, if you’re too shy to say.”  He reached out again, slowly, as if Papyrus were a skittish animal. “Just give me something to work with. Please? I want to make you happy.”

 

Dodging Asriel’s grasping hand, Papyrus tripped, back thudding against another nearby boulder. He flinched at the impact. It didn’t hurt, but now he was backed into a corner. “I’d be happier if you’d stop doing that,” he said. “I don’t like it.”

 

Asriel stopped, brought up short with his hand outstretched. His ingratiating smile stiffened. “Don’t be like that. I’m not going to hurt you, Papyrus.”

 

“I still want you to stop,” Papyrus insisted, creeping along the length of the boulder. He needed an escape route. He didn’t know why, precisely, but he felt trapped and unsafe. Undyne always said it was important for a warrior to trust his instincts. Now he knew what she meant by that.

 

Asriel snarled in frustration and seized Papyrus by the arm, yanking him closer. “Quit it, Papyrus! I’m just trying to-”

 

Papyrus reacted without thinking, twisting his body as Undyne had taught him to put as much power behind his punch as he could. His fist connected with Asriel’s jaw with a crack of bone on teeth. Asriel let go, staggering back a half-step under the force of the blow despite his larger size.

 

They stared at each other, equally shocked, Asriel massaging his jaw and Papyrus shaking out his throbbing hand. His glove hadn’t cushioned the punch at all.

 

“Papyrus?” Asriel’s lip quivered.

 

“I…I’m sorry,” Papyrus said, torn between checking Asriel’s jaw to see if it needed healing and making good on his chance to put some distance between them. “You wouldn’t stop, and you were scaring me, so…” He’d never hit anyone for real before. His knuckles ached.

 

“I wasn’t going to do anything bad.” Tears rolled down Asriel’s cheeks, outlining the dark stripes (or were they cracks?) on his face. “Why are you so scared of me?”

 

The building feeling of existential wrongness wasn’t something Papyrus could quantify. A ‘bad vibe’ seemed like a silly reason to react as violently as he had, but he resented the guilt trip when Asriel was the one who wouldn’t back off. He shook his head, glaring. “You already did something bad today,” he said, at a loss and returning to the only concrete reason he had to be frightened and angry.

 

Asriel sat down on the smaller boulder, shoulders slumping. “I don’t want you to leave.” His voice was mouse-small, bitter disappointment lacing every word. “This was supposed to be…” He trailed off, taking a deep, shaky breath. “You don’t like me anymore, do you?”

 

“I liked you better before you killed my friend,” Papyrus said, with no shortage of his own bitterness. “You were nicer.” Part of him was mourning for Flowey as well as the human, which was odd considering he was sitting right here.

 

“I’m sorry you had to see that, but I’m not sorry I did it. Someone had to, and Dad lost his edge a long time ago,” Asriel said, reaching up to wipe at his eyes. “And I wasn’t nicer, I was just a better actor. It’s easy when you can’t feel anything.” He curled his lip and winced at the movement. “Ow…”

 

Sighing, Papyrus stepped closer. “Let me look at it.” He gently shoved Asriel’s hand aside to inspect the injury. It was nothing too bad, just some light swelling. Papyrus couldn’t help feeling bad about it, though. Hurting someone was never something to be proud of. “Here,” he said, pausing to tug one of his gloves off. “I’ll heal it.”

 

Asriel hissed at the first touch against the tender lump on his jaw. “Thank you,” he said meekly as Papyrus set about healing him.

 

“You don’t have to thank me,” Papyrus said, tipping Asriel’s head to the side so he could see better. He focused his magic on a bruise that was forming under the skin. “I shouldn’t have hit you.”

 

“And I shouldn’t have grabbed you. I got carried away.” Asriel sighed. “I thought having a soul again would fix everything, but so far it’s making a big mess.”

 

Papyrus glanced at Asriel’s downcast eyes briefly, but said nothing. He wasn’t quite as scared now, but he didn’t trust himself to speak further without winding Asriel up again.

 

“What’s Mom going to think? She already hates Dad,” Asriel murmured, sounding too young for his appearance. “She’ll hate me, too.” With that, fresh tears slid down his face. Soon, he was crying too hard for Papyrus to keep working on his bruised jaw.

 

 Asriel flung his arms around Papyrus’ waist. Papyrus let himself be hugged, though he didn’t have much inclination to return the gesture. Tears soaked a wet spot into his shirt where Asriel’s face was pressed to his chest. Normally, he’d try to comfort someone who was crying. He didn’t have the energy for it right now. He stood quietly and let his wayward friend cry, resting his hand atop Asriel’s head in the space between his horns.

 

The sky gradually darkened from blue to red, and lights flickered on in the buildings of the distant city. The breeze grew colder. How long had they been up here? Papyrus was anxious to get back to the castle so he could make sure Sans and the others were okay. It probably wouldn’t do any good to ask Asriel to take him back underground until he’d calmed down, though. He’d have to wait.

 

Asriel stirred, tightening his hold. “Do you hate me?” His voice was raspy, though he’d mostly stopped crying.

 

“No,” Papyrus said, stroking the white hair under his hand. There were a lot of murder-related qualifications to his non-hatred at present, but he was sure Asriel already knew that.

 

“You’ll give me another chance, right?” Asriel said, blinking up at Papyrus with a hopeful grimace. “You always do.”

 

After a moment’s thought, Papyrus nodded, feeling his convictions bending under the strain of a dead human. They weren’t coming back whether he forgave Asriel or not. What mattered was seeing that it didn’t happen again. As his friend, Papyrus had to take responsibility for Asriel, to keep an eye on him and hold him to his promises. It wouldn’t be easy, but someone had to do it.

 

“You can do better,” he said, “if you really want to.”

 

“I will.” Asriel nuzzled against Papyrus’ chest. “You’re always so good to me. We’re going to be happy, I promise.”

 

Papyrus had his doubts about that, but made no reply. He had a feeling he’d need to save his strength.


	2. puzzle theory master class (gaster/papyrus)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For crawlycrawlies, Gaster meets an interesting monster who shares his love of puzzles. ...And that's about where their similarities end.  
> Content: Gaster/Papyrus (unrelated), clash of the egos, bad puzzle opinion zone.

During downtime— waiting for a program to compile or a reaction to complete— Gaster was in the habit of scrolling through the closed circuit camera feeds to make sure they were working. He kept a keen eye on Snowdin in particular, as one of the sentries there tended to sabotage any camera he found out of the paranoid misapprehension that they had been placed by some secret enemy. Paranoia was a positive trait in a sentry, and so Gaster hadn’t lodged a complaint with the Captain of the Guard but merely kept watch over his equipment and sent techs out to repair the cameras as needed.

 

Some time ago, one of the Snowdin cameras had caught a skeleton sentry clearing snow from a squared-off plot of land. Over the span of several weeks, Gaster watched the puzzle take shape. Patiently, alone, the sentry carved a grid into the frozen earth, laying out simple wiring and circuit boards in homemade casings.

 

Gaster preferred to work alone, without interruptions or distractions, but he’d taken to leaving the camera feed open on a spare monitor while he went about his day. The silent figure on the screen was good company, working without rest for hours. The puzzle itself was crude and simplistic, but the ethic behind it was commendable. It didn’t hurt that the sentry was pleasing to look at, either.

 

In fact, Gaster found the footage of this kindred spirit so agreeable that he looped the older recordings during those times when the skeleton was off doing other things. One of these recorded feeds was playing when his work was interrupted by a sharp beep.

 

Gaster glared in consternation at the error message flashing on the screen. The motor for a mobile laser in one of the Hotland conveyor puzzles was reporting excess load. After a few seconds, the message vanished, only for the laser’s immediate neighbor to ping his computer with the same error. Leaning back in his chair, Gaster watched the progression of messages as each laser in turn registered the irregularity for a brief time before returning to normal functioning.

 

His diagnostics programs turned up nothing. Annoyed, he resorted to the cameras to see if some sort of external interference was to blame. The short-lived mystery was solved as soon as the camera feed loaded. Error messages appeared to ‘walk’ along his lasers because some addle-brained fool was quite literally walking on top of the laser housings.

 

Worse still, Gaster recognized the vandal. It was his Snowdin sentry putting bootprints all over the laser array, adding a sting of betrayal to his outrage. To think he’d grown so fond of someone who would spit in the face of a fellow (and superior) puzzle architect! The nerve! Gaster watched the lanky figure hop from laser to laser as casually as a child jumping from rock to rock to cross a stream. He waited for them to fall and be badly scorched by a laser beam for their insolence, but despite the cell phone in one hand and the brown-paper parcel in the other they were remarkably sure-footed.

 

Shrugging out of his lab coat, Gaster made for the door.There was no way he could catch the sentry in the act, but he could meet them in the road and take them to task for their ridiculous conduct.

 

#

 

Gaster stopped at the edge of the steam vents. The sentry was just clearing the last vent, parcel clutched tight to their chest. They landed on solid ground, momentum carrying them a few steps forward. Muttering curses, they— he, rather, judging from the voice— dusted himself off with theatrical flourish. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, deftly flipping it open and dialing with one hand. “Yes, sorry about that,” he said, resuming a previous conversation. “I had to get through that godforsaken steam thing. Now, what were you saying about…?”

 

Gaster couldn’t care less about whatever insipid nonsense the young skeleton was nattering about, but he rankled at ‘godforsaken steam thing.’ He advanced, waving to get the sentry’s attention. “Excuse me.”

 

The sentry made his apologies to his conversation partner and ended his call once more. “Hello!” he said to Gaster, with a bright smile and seemingly genuine interest. “Can I help you?”

 

However polite and charming the sentry appeared, Gaster had seen what sort of hooligan lurked beneath that facade. “You climbed over the laser array puzzle,” he said brusquely, seeing little reason to waste time on niceties.

 

The sentry gasped, raising a hand to his mouth. “How did you know that?”

 

Wordlessly, Gaster jabbed a finger in the direction of the nearest camera, its red LED winking in the hazy gloom of the magma chamber. Realization dawned on the young skeleton’s face.

 

“Oh,” he said, blinking. “I always forget about those.”

 

Gaster crossed his arms, swiftly losing patience. Why did the attractive ones always turn out to be simpletons? What a waste. “Clearly. You are aware, are you not, that you may have damaged some very delicate, very _rare_ components with your foolishness?”

 

“Wowie, I didn’t realize they were so fragile.Sorry.” The sentry looked suitably remorseful. “It just seemed easier than dealing with those dratted lasers.” Setting down his parcel, he took a small notepad and pen from his pocket, flipping through several pages filled with thumbnail sketches and partial schematics. Curious by nature, Gaster glanced at them. More puzzle designs? Surely none of them could be any good, considering the apparent intelligence of their designer.

 

Finding a blank page, the sentry scrawled his contact information on it. “I’ll pay for any damage, of course,” he said, tearing the page from the notepad and handing it over.

 

“As well you should,” Gaster snapped, irrationally annoyed that the sentry was too mannerly to get any real enjoyment from yelling at him. Offering to pay for the damage— who did this cretin think he was? Peering at the scrap of paper in his hand, Gaster made a note of the address, along with the phone number and ‘PAPYRUS (THE SKELETON)’ in large, angular letters.

 

“Would you like me to go with you to check the lasers?” offered Papyrus (the skeleton), wringing his hands. “I build puzzles myself, so I’m good at this sort of thing.”

 

Oh, _really._ How presumptuous. “The laser arrays are far more complex than an amateur’s sliding blocks and switches, I’m afraid.” In the admittedly likely event that the lasers were undamaged, letting Papyrus poke and prod at them would no doubt remedy that. Gaster dismissed him with a curt gesture. “Be on your way and expect a call later.”

 

With a shrug, Papyrus nodded and gathered his parcel. “If you’re sure,” he said.

 

“Wait a moment,” Gaster said, stopping the skeleton only a few steps away. Papyrus was from Snowdin, which meant he was on his way home— yet there had only been one bout of error messages. “How did you get past the arrays the first time?”

 

Papyrus smiled. “Oh, it’s easy in that direction. You just lie down on the conveyor belt and it carries you right under all of them. I think it’s how a sheet of paper must feel when it’s being scanned.” His smile turned sympathetic. “I’m sorry you’re stuck maintaining the puzzles out here. They really are terrible, aren’t they?”

 

With that, the young skeleton traipsed off, bound for the ferry landing.

 

Gaster watched him go, apoplectic but too stunned to retort. _Terrible?_ Was this _nobody_ really so bold as to insult his work to his face?

 

No, plainly he’d had no idea he was speaking to the royal scientist. Under normal circumstances, Gaster left maintenance work to his assistants and techs. Papyrus, having more looks than brains, must have assumed he was conversing with a common grunt. He had aimed his jibes at ‘the boss’ in hopes of establishing a rapport and thereby seeing his liability reduced through emotional manipulation. A self-serving social maneuver based on mistaken identity— nothing personal, and likely not even reflective of Papyrus’ true opinion. Gaster had seen the sketches in his notebook, after all. Anyone with even a passing interest in puzzle theory, no matter how dimwitted, would recognize his work as the zenith of the artform.

 

Gaster looked once more at the sentry’s contact information, thoughts drifting back to that bright, welcoming smile. Whether he was truly intelligent or not, Papyrus had been cunning enough to find a way to bypass the laser array puzzle with a minimum of effort and risk. Which meant that it was, in a manner of speaking, flawed. The realization that  Papyrus’ words held at least a small shred of merit was obnoxious in the extreme.

 

The fact that the lasers turned out to be entirely undamaged was even more obnoxious. Worst of all, by far, was how pleased he was to have that shallow nitwit’s phone number.

 

#

 

The plan had been to make a quick call to tell Papyrus that the lasers needed no repairs, and let that be the end of it. Gaster couldn’t seem to find an opportune time to hang up, however, and in a matter of moments the skeleton had somehow roped him into a visit, insisting that extending his hospitality was the least he could do for Gaster’s trouble.

 

For several minutes after hanging up, Gaster replayed the exchange in his head, wondering how Papyrus had managed to get the upper hand, and why he’d let himself be caught up in the sentry’s nonsense. He had work to do! He didn’t have time to waste half a day in some backwater town at the edge of old Home.

 

#

 

And yet there he was, stepping onto the Snowdin ferry landing at the appointed date and time, dressed as though he were calling on the king and wrapped in a black wool coat he almost never had occasion to wear. 

 

It appeared that Papyrus had taken some extra trouble with his own appearance, standing out from the early morning crowd of bundled-up monsters in a leather jacket and, of all things, shorts layered over black tights or leggings of some kind. A bright red scarf was his only real concession to the climate. It was possible that Papyrus was colorblind, or had dressed in the dark, but then again Gaster didn’t keep up with what the youth considered stylish. Papyrus was fortunate that even the most clownish sartorial choices didn’t detract too much from his looks. He had that much going for him, at any rate. A smile lit up his face when he caught sight of Gaster.

 

“You’re here!” Papyrus crowed, stating the obvious. He met Gaster at the edge of the landing, taking him by the arm and hurrying him along the packed-snow street. “Have you eaten? The local pub is dreadful, but I could always make you something at the house before we head out. Do you like oatmeal?”

 

Gaster allowed himself to be swept along, matching the young skeleton’s quick pace more easily than he could keep up with the conversation. “I never eat in the morning,” he said, eager to have this frivolous outing over and done with.

 

“Good!” Papyrus said, steering Gaster through an intersection and onto the main street. “We can get right to the good part, then!”

 

They left town and struck off into the woods. Papyrus pointed out various current and defunct puzzles along their path, and was highly knowledgeable about all of them. The Snowdin forest provided romantic scenery, and it was (to Gaster’s great surprise) a pleasant enough walk. After half an hour, they reached the edge of a plateau where an artificial pathway covered in mirror-smooth ice vanished into the canopy of a stand of massive trees.

 

“Isn’t there some other way around?” Gaster eyed the ice stretching out into the darkness of the evergreens.

 

Papyrus shook his head primly. “You’re not dressed for hiking, and anyway it takes a while to climb back up.” He gave Gaster an encouraging pat on the arm. “It’s not scary.”

 

“I assure you, I’m not afraid of a patch of ice.” Gaster reached up to adjust his tie, which also moved his arm away from the unasked-for touch. He wasn’t necessarily averse to Papyrus’ hand on his arm, but not under the context of reassurance. In any case, It wasn’t so much the ice itself that gave him pause as the notion of slipping in front of his new acquaintance. Papyrus had the look of the athlete about him, and Gaster, while not ungraceful, would likely come out as the inferior in a physical undertaking such as this.

 

Perhaps that was Papyrus’ aim— to make him look foolish. Lesser minds were often given to that sort of pettiness.

 

“We’ll go together,” Papyrus said cheerily. He took a few steps back, and Gaster unconsciously followed suit. “The dogs and I polish out all the claw-marks and scuffs every week, so we should be able to slide clear through.”

 

Gaster had assumed they’d be walking over the ice, but Papyrus grabbed him by the hand and dashed forward. He leapt onto the glassy surface with practiced ease, while it was all Gaster could do to keep his footing. Loafers hadn’t been the best choice for snow _or_ ice. Reflexively, he clutched at the nearest object. This happened to be Papyrus.

 

The young sentry gently gripped his elbow to help steady him. “Don’t worry! I, the Great Papyrus, will not allow you to fall!”

 

“How gallant,” Gaster grumbled. And had Papyrus just referred to himself in the third person? Unacceptable.

 

At least he was having an easier time staying upright with the added support.

 

The dappled light filtering through the trees brightened as the path widened into a clearing, blue-tinged reflections bouncing off the ice. It was only here that Gaster realized how high up they were, with no guard rails to be seen around the raised (and incredibly slippery) pathway. As Papyrus had promised and physics mandated, however, they kept to their straight-line trajectory and soon reached the next plateau.

 

“Fun, isn’t it?” Papyrus said cheerfully, and seemed to mean it for god knew what reason. “We’re thinking of placing some barriers in the clearing to make unwary humans fall off the edge. The snow’s deep enough at the bottom that it would be quite nonlethal!”

 

Gaster hummed an acknowledgment, glad to be safe on solid ground again.

 

Papyrus turned to admire the ice briefly. “Yes, it’s going to be great! Think of it as an elegant improvement over Hotland’s unspeakable steam puzzles.”

 

Just when the sentry was getting back into his good graces, he had to return to that irritating theme. “Surely they’re not that bad,” Gaster said, trying for a light, teasing tone with mixed results.

 

They resumed their walk, Papyrus making a sour face at the memory of the steam vents— which were a far greater feat of engineering than a simple layer of ice on a catwalk. “They’re too big,” he said, as though pronouncing a grave sin.

 

“Greater size,” Gaster explained, patiently as possible, “affords vastly greater combinations of moves, and thus a greater number of incorrect solutions to stymie challengers.”

 

Without so much as a pause for consideration, Papyrus waved off the statement with a flippant gesture. “There’s no way to see all the vents at once. That means they can’t be solved without a lot of guessing and memorization.” He shook his head with an air of finality. “It’s cheap difficulty, and the size makes it a nuisance for the monsters that have to travel past it even after they’ve memorized the path.”

 

“Fairness and convenience are secondary to keeping the Underground secure,” Gaster retorted, but he didn’t expect that anything would change the young skeleton’s mind on the matter. “I suppose it must be quite irritating for you,” he said, unable to resist being provocative in return, “having to deal with a puzzle without any way to cheat around it.”

 

Papyrus tapped his chin thoughtfully, either missing the bait or declining to rise to it. “I like the conveyor puzzles better, even if they do have a nightmarish number of design flaws.”

 

For a moment, Gaster scrutinized the skeleton from the corner of his eye. _Did_ Papyrus know who he was speaking to? If so, he was incredibly insolent. Reminding himself that he was giving the pretty fool more credit than he was due, Gaster let the subject drop.

 

They walked on for a while, Papyrus happy to provide enough trivial small talk for both of them, until they crossed a perforated grate set into the ground. It had recently been cleared of fresh snow.

 

“Here we are!” Papyrus announced, skipping a few steps ahead to gesture grandly at the structure of half-walls before them.

 

It took a moment to recognize it, having never seen it in person, but this was the same puzzle Gaster had watched Papyrus build in real time. It was a maze, and a rather simple one, at that. Adding to its simplicity, its primitive packed-snow walls were short enough to see over.

 

“Your work,” Gaster said, forgetting at the crucial moment to make the statement into a question.

 

Papyrus perked up, and a trace of sharpness flitted through his eye sockets. “Yes! How did you guess?”

 

“You’re clearly anxious for me to see this puzzle in particular,” Gaster said. Obviously, he wasn’t about to admit to watching Papyrus over the cameras. He was socially literate enough to recognize that such behavior would be easy to…misconstrue.

 

Nodding, Papyrus leaned back against one of the snow walls. “Yes, this puzzle is my magnum opus! For the time being,” he added, smiling. He had an attractive smile, Gaster had to admit. “I was returning from New Home with a few final components for it when we ran into each other the other day. Since I’ve only just completed it, I’d appreciate you testing it and sharing your impressions!”

 

Ah. So this wasn’t an idle walk through the woods.

 

“You want me to solve your puzzle,” Gaster said, a flare of pride rising with the words. Silly, perhaps, but it was gratifying to know that Papyrus sought his approval, even without knowing his true identity. The ability to recognize one’s betters was all too rare.

 

Papyrus dragged Gaster by the hand to the puzzle’s entrance, beaming. “I’ve been running tests myself, of course, but a fresh perspective would be immeasurably helpful.”

 

“I’d be only too happy to share my suggestions,” Gaster said, smiling for the first time all day. With allowances made for his exuberance (and unearned arrogance where puzzle theory was concerned), the sentry was tolerable company.  Gaster would take care to walk slowly, so as not to injure Papyrus’ feelings by solving the puzzle too quickly.

 

“Excellent!” Papyrus revealed a large breaker switch hidden in a nearby copse of trees, its housing painted to blend in against the tree trunks. He threw the switch, and the LEDs on the pressure pads shifted from circles to crosses. Spring-loaded spikes shot up through the grate they’d crossed, blocking the path back to town. As simplistic as the puzzle was, it was well-constructed.

 

Papyrus seated himself on a nearby rock to spectate. Crossing his legs, he leaned his chin on his fist. “I’m sure you’ll find some intellectual substance refreshing after all the overwrought showiness of Hotland’s puzzles,” he said, grinning.

 

Ah.

 

All questions of mistaken identity aside, Gaster couldn’t let these insults stand any longer. A pleasing face and a trim figure could only take one so far in life, and for his own good Gaster was going to have to put this young upstart in his proper place, starting with this laughable little puzzle. Harsh, perhaps, but necessary.

 

Gaster stepped into the maze (such as it was), confident that it would be solved in seconds.

 

In less than a minute, he boxed himself into one corner of the maze with two pads left.

 

“That was a good try!” Papyrus chirped. Gaster could discern no hint of gloating, and the genuine goodwill was somehow more galling than any taunt. Once Gaster was out of the maze, the young skeleton rose to throw the switch again. A cascade of metallic clicks and whirrs passed through the maze’s buried innards as all the pressure pads reset, their renewed crosses looking almost mocking.

 

“There! Now you can give it another go.”

 

Gaster set forth again, irritated with himself and resolved to give the childish puzzle greater attention. With a modicum of planning, he would succeed and be free to enumerate Papyrus’ many design mistakes.

 

This time, a single pad remained with no way to reach it but to cross his own path. Gaster scowled at the elusive pad. How…?

 

Papyrus clapped encouragingly. “You’re getting closer!” Again, there was nothing patronizing or unkind in his tone, and Gaster found his temper rising as a result. This mere sentry seemed to believe he had a real masterpiece on his hands, and each failure to solve it would only reinforce that delusion.

 

Monsters thinking themselves smarter than they really were was a peeve of his. Moreover, he was embarrassing himself with his own sudden ineptitude. For god’s sake, this puzzle wasn’t complex! He’d seen it _built!_

 

Gaster repeated his walk of shame to the edge of the maze. This time when Papyrus reset the pads, there could have been the barest hint of a smirk on his features— there and gone so quickly Gaster might well have imagined it.

 

“Would you like me to turn the other way?” Papyrus asked, resuming his perch on the rock. “I’ve heard being watched can make it harder to think, and that’s not meant to be part of the puzzle.”

 

Gaster frowned. “I need no such accommodation, but I imagine you’ll turn around regardless.”

 

Papyrus grinned. “Correct!” He turned about on the rock, scarf cutting a red arc through the air behind him.

 

Now what? Gaster lingered at the maze entrance, arms crossed. If he solved the puzzle this time, Papyrus would take it to mean that his attention had indeed put Gaster on edge. As Papyrus already believed an excessive number of untrue things, this was not ideal. And yet, the very idea that Gaster’s success on this (third!) try was uncertain at all was mortifying.

 

He could see the entirety of the puzzle from where he now stood. Papyrus had taken pains to make sure this was possible, that would-be challengers had all the information required. Success or failure lay squarely on his own shoulders.

 

“Would you like a hint?” Papyrus offered, sweetly. Gaster turned to glare at him but the effort was wasted as Papyrus was still facing the other way, playing with his phone and unable to see him.

 

Gaster did his best to burn twin holes in the skeleton’s back with his eyes, anyway. “No,” he said. “I do not require a _hint._ ” His teeth cut through the final syllable. Oh, how he wanted to shred that unjustified ego.

 

“Of course, I’m sure you want to figure it out on your own.” Being careful not to look in Gaster’s direction, Papyrus rearranged himself more comfortably on the rock, sitting cross-legged. “Take all the time you need! Let me know if you need it reset again.”

 

Papyrus, Gaster realized with dawning horror, had gotten inside his head somehow. All those jabs at Hotland’s puzzles, that moment of weakness on the ice walkway, and now this— what was he trying to do? It couldn’t possibly be intentional, could it? To what end, if it was?

 

Gaster very badly wanted to wipe that carefree smile off the skeleton’s face. He wanted to cement— beyond any and all doubt— where they stood relative to one another. Distantly, he was aware that he was being juvenile. And yet, in the heat of the moment, he was sorely tempted to drag Papyrus off that rock and shake him vigorously while shouting _‘I’m smarter than you’_ at the top of his lungs.

 

That was not the sort of altercation Gaster wanted on record, even if no one saw the camera footage but himself.

 

With a deep breath, Gaster plunged into the maze once more. As long as he kept a clear head and took his time, he would solve the puzzle and preserve what remained of his dignity. Once he got back to the lab, he could erase the relevant footage. Papyrus would remember temporarily besting a lowly technician from Hotland, and no one would ever be the wiser.

 

Gaster looked down at the ground, and felt his insides turn to slush. Oh, no. _No._

 

One pad left. He couldn’t reach it.

 

He’d been careful this time! He’d made a plan! A child could solve this miserable puzzle and yet, try as he might, Dr. W.D. Gaster, Royal Scientist, couldn’t manage it after _three tries._

 

He couldn’t bear to admit defeat again. Gaster stared hard at the pad standing between him and redemption. It wasn’t terribly large— a meter square at the most. He could simply jump over it.

 

Yes. Yes, that was exactly what he ought to do. He’d indulged Papyrus long enough. It was time to put an end to this silliness and return to town, and thence to his lab to destroy the evidence, et cetera. And afterward, possibly, pour a very strong drink.

 

Without further ado, Gaster jumped over the offending pad, landing in the snow on the other side. His triumph was short-lived, unfortunately, as the pad was sensitive enough to register the impact. Its symbol shifted with an electronic buzz.

“Are you alright, doctor?” Papyrus stood and moved to the edge of the maze, hands braced on top of the wall. “Did you trip?”

 

Flustered, Gaster waved off his concern. “No, I…” Well now, he certainly couldn’t confess what he’d done. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes, I tripped. I shouldn’t have worn these shoes.” He froze, staring at Papyrus with narrowed eyes. “I’m sorry— what did you call me?”

 

Papyrus vaulted the low wall and walked closer, stopping at the far side of the pad that signaled Gaster’s bungled cheating attempt. “My brother says you get annoyed if monsters forget your title. That’s right, isn’t it, Dr. Gaster?” He looked just as guileless as ever.

 

That friendly, open smile would haunt Gaster’s dreams.

 

“You know who I am,” Gaster said, already nostalgic for the comparatively shallow humiliation of failing this puzzle as an anonymous technician.

 

Papyrus nodded.

 

Marvelous. Now he really needed that drink. “And when did you figure that out?”

 

“My brother works in your physics department, and your picture is on the dust jacket of your book on puzzle theory,” Papyrus said, “which I own in three editions. So naturally, I recognized you right away.” He winked, and Gaster felt his breath catch momentarily.

 

“And you didn’t see fit to say anything?” Gaster felt like an absolute fool, allowing this young skeleton to so easily and repeatedly throw him off balance. Not only had Papyrus picked up on his attempts at keeping his true identity concealed, he’d slyly introduced the fiction himself! Even now, Gaster couldn’t discern for certain how much of Papyrus’ air-headed demeanor was genuine and how much was an affectation. He was starting to suspect more of the latter, to his increasing annoyance and intrigue alike.

 

Papyrus made a helpless gesture, gaze cast demurely downward. “I didn’t want to mention it when you were angry with me about your lasers,” he said, toying with the end of his scarf. “It’s a pretty embarrassing way to meet someone you’re a fan of.”

 

“And why bring me out here?” Gaster said, suddenly finding it difficult to stay very angry. Papyrus’ admission potentially threw a different light on the day’s events, and he was showing himself to be sharper than Gaster had initially assumed, too. The contact info, the outfit, the walk…had he misread Papyrus’ intentions?

 

“I love puzzles. Having you try one of my designs has been on my bucket list for years, actually,” Papyrus said, meeting Gaster’s gaze with innocent eye sockets. “I couldn’t let the opportunity pass.”

 

Why hadn’t Papyrus been talking this way all morning? Gaster would have payed closer attention to his constant noise. “I suppose it’s understandable.” Gaster crossed his arms. It was past time to take back control of this situation, as flattered and pleased as he was. “But I’m afraid I don’t have all day to spend gallivanting through the forest while my work falls behind schedule.”

 

Perhaps he could carve out some time later in the week for a more traditional rendezvous. A creature of skipped meals and takeout, Gaster struggled to recall any decent restaurants in New Home. Something with ambiance, where they could delve further into puzzle theory. Papyrus did have some amount of potential, after all, and the ignorance of youth was something he could correct.

 

Papyrus nodded sadly. “Of course, I’m sorry I held you up so long.” He canted his head to one side. “So, it was three failed attempts and then forfeiting, yes?”

 

Gaster stood up straight, a metaphorical bucket of ice water poured over his daydreaming. “What?”

 

“You couldn’t solve it, so I’m recording this as three attempts,” Papyrus repeated, pulling his small notepad from his pocket, “and a forfeit. I really appreciate your help testing this puzzle.” Papyrus glanced up from his writing to smile again at Gaster. “Success and failure rates are just as useful as your book says. Everything seems to be working, too,” he added, tapping the pad between them with the heel of his boot.

 

“What,” Gaster said, drawn back into the game despite himself, “is that supposed to mean?”

 

Papyrus put his hands up, placating. “Nothing! Nothing,” he said. “There’s no shame in it.”

 

Gaster stepped forward. The pad didn’t shift again, its purpose of detecting foul play already fulfilled. “No shame in what, exactly?” He leaned in, looming over Papyrus in an unspoken dare to speak further.

 

Unconcerned, Papyrus held his ground, smiling his sunny smile. “There’s no shame,” he said, taking a half-step forward so that he had to crane his neck back to meet Gaster’s glare, perilously close, “in being beaten by an _amateur’s_ puzzle.”

 

Gaster recoiled as though slapped. “Reset it,” he hissed, voice cracking in a most embarrassing fashion.

 

“Oh, yay!” Grinning like a madman, Papyrus sprang effortlessly back over the wall and ran to the switch. “I’m sure you’ll get it this time, doctor!”

 

Gaster stalked back to the entrance. Besides the puzzle, he needed to figure out this damned sentry.

 

He wasn’t going to get any work accomplished today, was he? He should have ignored those error messages.


	3. The one with the hideaway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A mysterious anon, a knock-off reborntale scene wherein Sans has that little hideaway he was thinking about in that other piece. Nothing like having a place to store your snacks, and keep the DVR programmed just right!  
> Content advisory: off-screen violence, broken bones, and in the interest of truth in advertising: a casual reminder that the bros ain't bros in this AU other than in a vaguely Jay and Silent Bob sense.

Once upon a time a new text notification would have been a surprise, but these days things were much better for Papyrus in the friend department than they had been hitherto. And so when his phone chirped, he wasted no time in fetching it from the folds of his robe. As expected, the message was from Sans, his best (albeit, technically, _only_ ) demonic friend.

Back when their friendship was just starting, Sans never replied to his texts, and it was more or less a coin toss whether he'd show if plans were made. He always replied now, even if it sometimes took several hours (or days, during especially slothful periods) and even texted Papyrus first on rare occasions. Like tonight.

 **/R u busy?/** An apartment address followed.

Well, that was…strange. Papyrus peered at the pixels on the small screen, trying to divine what was tripping his weirdometer about the text.

It wasn't like the demon to lead with a question, for one thing, and definitely not to ask whether he was busy. Sans never cared one iota about that. On the contrary, he seemed to take a special delight in interrupting Papyrus’ work to heckle him and generally get underfoot. It was also strange that he'd given his location. If Sans wanted to hang out, generally he figured out where the angel was in some sneaky, roundabout way and simply showed up unannounced. Again, usually when Papyrus was working.

What was Sans doing at some random apartment, for that matter? Surely if he were attending to one of his unfortunate mortals he wouldn't want Papyrus around. Was something wrong?

Shaking his head, Papyrus laughed at his own suspicion. Maybe some of Sans’ worldly cynicism was coming off on him. If the demon was growing more considerate and direct, the last thing he should feel about the development was worried.

Whatever hidden meanings the text did or did not hold, there was no reason to stand around speculating about it. Stretching his wings, Papyrus set course for his friend.

Late as it was, the uptown neighborhood was still bustling with activity as mortals moved in pairs and small groups, bundled up against the night chill as they walked between shops, clubs, and restaurants. None of them took notice of the angel in their midst, of course. It took a certain amount of effort to be noticed by mortals, and Papyrus took care to be heard and perceived (if not truly seen, other than that one time) only when necessary. Or when ordering a pizza.

The apartment complex itself was nicer than he'd expected. Since the agents of Heaven didn’t work for a salary beyond the joy of fulfilling their purpose he had only a loose perception of money, but he knew that some things commanded a higher price than others. Perhaps Sans was working on a particularly industrious mortal.

Slipping through the main doors alongside a group of laughing women, Papyrus crossed the lobby, bypassing the elevators in favor of the stairs. As someone with fairly large wings, he wasn't a fan of cramped spaces. Besides, flying was quicker.

Or it would have been, had the stairwell not been so narrow. Having to fly straight upward between railings that scarcely accommodated his wingspan, he found his flight skills thoroughly challenged. Under other circumstances he might have made a game of it, to get all the way to the top floor without striking the railing. He was anxious to reach the apartment, however, and after a few floors he alighted. His robes tripped him up a few times as he climbed the stairs, forcing him to pause to gather them out of the way in one hand. Sans could be on to something with that whole ‘wearing pants’ business…

When Papyrus stepped out into the top floor hallway he was quietly pleased to note that he'd still beaten the elevator. Well, it was hardly surprising! He was naturally athletic, after all.

The apartment in question was at the far end of the hall, on the corner. It was impossible to miss, especially as the door had been carelessly left open. That in itself was a little odd, but Papyrus brushed aside his trepidation and forged ahead.

There were no mortals in sight. The apartment was silent and unoccupied. Well, unoccupied aside from the miscellaneous rubble strewn across the floor and every available flat surface. Papyrus took a step forward, only to spook himself when his sandal crunched down on a stale cheese puff. If this was the home of one of Sans’ mortals, then he’d clearly already made great progress with them.

Alone in an ocean of crud, Papyrus crossed his arms, frowning. He couldn't see Sans anywhere. Had he already moved on? That would be characteristically rude (and uncharacteristically energetic) of him.

But wait! The door leading into the bedroom was open, and said bedroom likely contained a _bed_ , where a Sloth demon may very well be napping. Sans could sleep standing up (or, on one memorable occasion, while walking), but he preferred to have something soft to lie on. Unless he was buried somewhere under the unspeakable heap of junk piled on the couch, that left the bed as the only viable option.

Reveling in his own deductive genius, Papyrus picked his way across the messy floor and entered the bedroom. He did indeed find a nap-worthy bed, but he recoiled at the sight that greeted him.

Sans lay curled up on the floor beside the bed, back pressed to the frame as though hiding from something. Ruined wings rustled as he shivered, splintered bone scraping and chattering together. The tip of his tail bobbed almost comically to and fro at too-sharp angles, hanging on by a wisp of unholy power. One of his horns was missing, leaving a jagged stump.

"Hey," Sans croaked, grinning blearily up at him. A finger-wide crack ran from temple to cheekbone. It flexed slightly with the movement of his jaw.

The sound of his voice snapped Papyrus from his shock. He hurried to the demon’s side, knees skidding on the carpet. His wings spread in an unconscious attempt to shield Sans from sight, for all that no one seemed to be at home, and no mortal would have taken notice of them regardless.

Where to even begin? Without waiting to be asked, Papyrus reached for the damaged tail. It wasn't the most serious wound, but it was surely one of the most painful. Sans yelped and hissed, his tail squirming in Papyrus’ grip.

“If you don’t hold still, it’s going to heal crooked,” Papyrus snapped, taking refuge in the comforting familiarity of scolding his layabout friend. He then set aside his alarm to center his attention on Sans’ tail. Careful to line up the break correctly, he thought hard about the joint mending, and did his best to focus that thought into his hands.

All angels had to learn healing miracles if they wanted to venture onto the mortal plane, in case they ran across a fellow angel in need of help. But the demon’s injuries were well beyond anything Papyrus had handled before. Truthfully, he’d never had to make use of his meager first-aid training until now. The laying of hands had never been his strongest suit, either. If Sans had needed a good pep talk, or inspiration, or encouragement, then Papyrus was the best of the best. But physical damage? There were far more qualified beings than him, as much as he hated to admit falling short of the mark.

None of those qualified beings were around, however. Not that any of them would extend their aid to a demon. Papyrus would just have to do his best. As the broken tail slowly stitched itself back together, he glanced at his friend’s face. Sans’ teeth were clenched hard enough to audibly creak.

"What in the world happened to you?" Of all the situations Papyrus had expected to deal with when he’d arrived, this hadn’t even made the list.

"It's embarrassing," Sans said, laughing through his gritted teeth. He groaned as the motion jostled his ribs. "Got outsmarted by the last things that should have been able to."

Leave it to the demon to be needlessly obtuse even in this state. “You didn’t irritate a priest, did you?” Papyrus half-joked. Rare as they were, there _did_ exist mortals who could harm them. Most of the world’s assorted clergies weren’t among that number, but one never knew. “The mortal that lives here?”

Sans held down a chuckle, the tip of his tail twitching in its usual pattern now that it was whole again. “No one lives here but me.”

“That explains the mess, then,” the angel chided. He laid his hands over a messy split in the demon’s shin. “Stop fidgeting, would you?”

“It itches,” Sans complained, inching along the floor in an attempt to get away.

Papyrus moved one wing into his escape route, fencing him in. “You shouldn’t have gotten yourself hurt, then. You requested my help, the least you can do is be still!”

With a visible effort, Sans kept his leg more or less still. Healing took a great deal of concentration, but Papyrus spared a corner of his mind to wonder how Sans had gotten so roughed up. If a mortal wasn’t to blame, that still left every conceivable immortal as a suspect. Surely he’d have been notified if another angel had arrived in the area! Or had this been a private feud between demons?

A distinct bite mark on Sans’ forearm provided a crucial clue. Papyrus frowned. “Nephilim?”

“Yeah,” Sans said, a blush coloring his face. “Did I not mention that? I _said_ it was embarrassing.”

“But you had no trouble with them at all last time,” Papyrus protested. His wing twinged at the memory of his own introduction to the Nephilim. It had been more than a little scary. All those little claws grabbing at him, and that chittering laughter… He’d never admit as much out loud, but if the demon hadn’t shown up when he had, that night could have ended quite badly. An answering blush heated his own face, and he bent over the wound he was healing in an attempt to hide it. Yes, being overrun by those horrid little things was the very definition of adding insult to injury.

Sans sighed. “I guess I got cocky,” he said. “I kinda go out of my way to rip them up when I see them these days. It’s, y’know, cathartic.” He coughed, turning his face to avoid eye contact. “Thought I was chasing a few of them tonight-- turns out the dumb little bastards were leading me into a bigger swarm. Who would have thought they could _think_ , eh?”

“You were the one who told me not to underestimate them,” Papyrus chided, a scowl settling on his face.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sans growled. “I just got the remedial lesson beaten into me, I don’t need a lecture from you on top of it.” Sullen, he glared at the far wall, tail whapping against the angel’s knee as it swished back and forth. It stilled for a moment, and Sans cleared his throat. “Thanks for coming, by the way.”

“Of course,” Papyrus said, a little puzzled at the notion that he might not have answered the demon’s call. They were friends, whatever other complications existed between them. Who else were they supposed to rely on, here among the mortals and lesser demons?

They sat in silence for a few minutes while Papyrus attended to some smaller wounds. He was performing miracles that were a great deal more taxing than turning paper napkins into gold; it was hard to talk at the same time.

A small worry turned into a larger, more distracting one as he worked. Papyrus finished mending a minor scrape and sat back on his heels. “Do you think there’s any chance that one of them saw you here?”

“Don’t know.” Sans cringed as Papyrus set a cracked rib. “I texted you as soon as I got inside, and that was, what, half an hour ago? I don’t think they’d have the patience to wait around outside if they knew where I’d slipped off to.”

Papyrus frowned. That sounded sensible enough. But… “We’re both faster than they are,” he mused. What if they just hadn’t arrived yet? His thoughts wandered to the front door, still wide open.

“Not like they can track me,” Sans said, though his voice had gotten a bit less sure. His tail flicked to the side. “No trail to follow.”

Papyrus tapped his chin, antsy. “They could follow me, though.” Worry upgraded itself to anxiety. “Just a moment,” he said, standing. He was reasonably sure, now that he’d had a few minutes to take stock of the situation, that the demon wouldn’t expire where he lay.

Forcing himself to walk at a relaxed, absolutely-not-frightened pace, Papyrus returned to the front door and shut it. Were Nephilim bright enough to work a door handle? Just to be on the safe side, he threw the deadbolt and closed the little chain thingy as well.

Purified salt or holy water was out of the question with Sans already in such a weakened state, but there had to be some other way to ward the entrances that wouldn’t be hazardous to the immortals already inside. Nephilim weren’t powerful in any sense other than numbers; some dried herbs would surely serve well enough. Going through the kitchen cabinets, Papyrus failed to locate any rosemary, sage, cinnamon, garlic, or anything even slightly useful. The demon seemed to keep nothing around but processed junk food.

At last, he settled on a half-eaten bag of garlic pretzels. A little garlic had to be better than nothing. With great care, Papyrus arranged a line of pretzels along the bottom of the door and all the windows, which he also locked for good measure.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Sans said, watching him line up the remaining pretzels on the threshold of the sliding-glass door that led from the bedroom to the small balcony. “You really think that’s gonna do anything?”

“It might,” Papyrus snapped. “I’m doing my best with what’s available.” Honestly, he thought the pretzels were rather ingenious. It wasn’t his fault there was nothing better on hand.

With the apartment as secure as he could make it, Papyrus turned his attention back to his injured friend.

“Do you think you can stand? Your wings will take a while, and I’m sure you’d be more comfortable on the bed.” He’d need space to unfold the damaged wings, too, and there wasn’t enough room on the floor.

Sans reached up to take his offered hand. With the added support, the demon pushed himself up onto his knees, swaying with a sudden dizzy spell. His shattered wings dragged along the floor and he cried out, squeezing Papyrus’ hand hard enough to hurt. “Shit!”

“Sorry,” Papyrus said, moving to let Sans lean on him.

“S’alright.” Sans struggled to his feet and tottered unsteadily, clawed toes digging into the carpet. “It’s gonna get worse before it gets better,” he said, with a thin smirk. “Not gonna be able to do the whole stoic-cool-guy thing, so fair warning.”

“I know.” Papyrus helped Sans crawl onto the bed and shoved the tangled covers onto the floor. Best not to have anything for the already-broken bones to catch on.

Wincing as he tried and failed to steady his tattered wings, Sans arranged himself on his stomach. He blew out a sigh. “Man, this is gonna suck…”

That was possibly an understatement. Papyrus remembered how badly his own broken wing had hurt, and although he’d had to let it heal on its own, at least it had only been fractured in one place.

“Come on, bro,” Sans said, bracing himself. “No point dragging it out, right? I’ll try not to kick you or anything. No promises, though.”

Papyrus shook some of the growing tension out of his hands. “I’ll start with the worst bits, if that’s alright.” The mattress dipped under him as he moved to sit beside the demon, who hissed when even that slight movement was too much for the unstable bones to handle.

Sans dug his claws into the mattress with a popping of sharp bone through fabric. “Fine, fine,” he snapped, tail lashing. “Just hurry up and get it over with, will ya?”

Right. This was going to be supremely unpleasant no matter how much he tried to stall. Papyrus studied Sans’ wings, easier to see now that the demon was no longer curled up on his side. There were a lot of breaks to choose from, but it didn’t take long to find his top priority. The left wing’s…it must have been the humerus— Sans had so many dratted bones in his wings it was difficult to keep them all straight— had been twisted hard enough to snap. It would be best to mend it before the break was pulled farther apart.

“Alright,” Papyrus said, hands hovering over the break. “Please keep still.”

Some angels had such a gift for healing that they could do so painlessly. Papyrus was not among that number, and when he pulled the two halves of the bone into alignment, Sans shrieked.

“Sorry!” Papyrus knelt on the demon’s back to pin him down. He’d only hurt himself worse by thrashing. “Sorry, sorry! I’m trying to hurry.” He bit down on a shout of his own as Sans’ tail struck his side like a bull-whip.

Sans blasphemed but went rigid, forcing his wings to stay still and outspread. Claws shredding up the mattress, he shouted and cursed while Papyrus pressed each of the splintered bones back together. There was no clock in the room, but the sounds of people and cars on the streets below grew quieter as he worked.

When the bones of both wings were finally mended, Papyrus moved on to the tattered membranes. Sans was too worn out to do anything more than sob quietly into the mattress, and his wings lay limp at his sides.

For all the Nephilim weren’t terribly bright, they seemed to have understood that the demon’s delicate wings were a vulnerability. Not one inch of them had escaped unscathed, and as Papyrus mended yet another rip left by tooth or claw, he started to notice just how angry he was getting.

“Almost done,” he said wearily, wishing he could do something about the pain. He didn’t like being unable to do things. Especially helpful things.

Sans whimpered in reply.

The wings had borne the brunt of the Nephilim’s attack, but they hadn’t been the last of the injuries. Cracks and bruises remained scattered across the demon’s body. Sans sprawled unmoving where he was, gasping for breath. Ticking from the mattress and ribbon-thin shreds of the fitted sheet surrounded his hands and feet, as if he’d tried to disembowel the bed with partial success. Papyrus could fix that later; right now the thought of mending even one more thing made him feel physically ill. He’d never focused so hard for so long on a miracle in his life and he was drained, limbs heavy and head throbbing.

Maybe they both needed a break.

“Thank you,” Sans sniffled, voice muffled.

“It’s nothing,” Papyrus said. The sound of his own voice in his head rang like a hammer-blow. He rubbed at his temples and looked down at Sans, who was doubtless feeling a hundred times worse than he was. “Perhaps you should sleep for a bit.”

There was no reply. Papyrus was edging into real panic when the demon started snoring. Already asleep. Why was he surprised? He shook his head, more relieved than irritated.

Leaving Sans to his rest, Papyrus wandered the trashed apartment, restless and hoping to distract himself from the ache in his skull, along with his lingering anxiety.

The building’s proprietors had taken great pains to furnish the rooms well, and the apartment had probably looked welcoming and cheerful when Sans had first arrived. It was shameful that the place was such a mess, but Papyrus was too spent to waste another miracle on something as petty as housekeeping.

During his explorations (he _certainly_ wasn’t snooping through Sans’ things, that would be rude), he found a box of trash bags under the kitchen sink. Perhaps a previous tenant had left them behind. He took one and began filling it with discarded food wrappers and other random bits of detritus. Cleaning up by mortal methods was painstakingly slow, but it proved to be strangely meditative. The longer he worked, the more the headache and mental fog lifted. It was satisfying, even, to see the apartment gradually improved from horrifying to merely grubby by his efforts.

"Aw, c'mon, do you have to do that now?"

Papyrus looked up from a particularly stubborn blob of fossilized guacamole to see Sans leaning heavily on the door-frame.

He frowned. "What are you doing up?" Naturally, the one time he _wanted_ Sans to be lazy, the demon wouldn't oblige.

Sans shrugged. "Heard you crashing around out here, wanted to know what was up."

"I am not ‘crashing around,’" Papyrus chided, setting down the trash bag. "I'm trying to undo months of slovenliness."

"I've only been here for a couple weeks, actually." Sans grinned. "They think they're renting the place to a traveling salesman, when they think about it at all."

Papyrus rolled his eyes. "How in the world you managed this level of filth in a fortnight is beyond me. Isn't Pestilence someone else's job?" Truly, Sans’ ability to spread disorder and disarray was absolutely astounding.

"What can I say?" Sans said, chuckling. "I'm multi- urgh…" He hunched over, covering his face with one hand.

Papyrus was across the room with a quick push of his wings. He pulled the demon's hand away, replacing it with his own.

Sans aimed a half-hearted slap at his arm. "Can't a guy get a break? Have friggin’ mercy, jeez."

"I _was_ giving you a break, until you came out here and started being injured at me," Papyrus scolded, keeping his hand pressed firmly over the crack running down the demon's face.

Sans pouted but allowed Papyrus to continue his healing. With his uncovered eye socket, he swept a glance over the living room and kitchen. "Great. It's gonna take me forever to find anything now. I'd just gotten it the way I like it, too."

"Nonsense." Having just spent the better part of an hour excavating the main living spaces, Papyrus was feeling less than sympathetic towards the demon's preferences. "You're just lucky you can't catch the plague. This place is nightmarish." A literally biblical amount of cockroaches had been marshaling their forces inside the cupboards. He’d politely suggested they move elsewhere.

And he hadn’t even gotten to the washroom, yet…

"Eh, guess I can't take care of myself," Sans agreed, sounding not the least bit chastised. "Too bad no one's here to look after me."

Papyrus snorted. "I have no intention of being your personal…" He groped for the proper mortal word. "Dogsbody. If that’s what you’re angling for, you can just forget it."

Sans smiled wide, pulling at the seams of the healing crack in his face. "Aw, give it a chance. You'd be perfect for the job. You could keep track of all my appointments, and I'll even let you pick out my clothes. Not that your fashion sense is any better than mine," he added, looking the angel's robes over.

As if Sans knew the first thing about style! "This look is classic," Papyrus said archly. “And you’re hardly one to talk, dressing the way you do.”

Sans ignored the criticism. "More like classical era,” he fired back, looking more cheerful than he had all night. “The ancient Etruscans called-- they want their toga back."

"This is plainly not a toga, and the Etruscans didn't even wear…" Papyrus shook his head. “Why do I let you drag me into these ludicrous discussions? And stop scratching!” He smacked Sans’ claws, pulling one of the demon’s wings open to check the membranes.

“Ow!” Sans cringed, wing tugging back against Papyrus’ grip. "Quit fussing, damn!"

Papyrus was unimpressed. "You're going to tear them again if you don't leave them alone."

"I can't help it, they itch."

“They itch because they’re still healing, and you’ll regret it if you undo all my hard work.” Still, Papyrus scratched the demon's wing for him. His own fingertips weren't exactly blunt, but they weren't claws, and the wing membranes were in no great danger from them.

Sans sighed in contentment. "That’s better.” His tail twitched in a lazy rhythm. “You'll stay and nurse me back to health, right?"

“I’ll heal the rest of your injuries, if that’s what you mean. I just need a few hours to rest.”

“No, no. I mean, you’re gonna hang out for a while?”

Papyrus let go of the wing and checked over the crack on Sans’ face. It was sealed, though a raised line remained. It would fade over time, hopefully. "You'll be fine."

"No, I won’t. I'm a sickly convalescent. I need time to convalesce." Sans smiled, though it was a little wobbly around the edges. "I'll get you some of that lame oatmeal you like, with the weird little candies. Eh? It’s not like you’re that great a healer, so you should stick around and make sure you actually got the job done."

Oh, that was beyond obnoxious. “I didn’t have to heal you at all, you know,” Papyrus snapped. A certain someone had only been able to set and wrap his own wing by hand back when it had been the demon’s turn to render aid, so he wasn’t at all interested in Sans’ opinion of his healing abilities. Even if it was accurate.

Sans’ grin wilted. “…I know.”

“Stop that. I wouldn’t have refused to help, and you know it.” Honestly, for such a joker Sans was incredibly oversensitive sometimes. And he was so concerned about Papyrus leaving. Why? Papyrus stared at him for a moment, thinking. “Are you uncomfortable being here alone?”

Sans blushed. “Tch! No! Whatever, bro.” His gaze wandered to the floor. “I…might be a little freaked out.”

“Well, you could have just said that, instead of sassing me.”

Sans made an incredulous sort of gargle in the back of his throat, and the blush deepened. “So, are you gonna stay or not?”

“I suppose I can spare a day or two,” Papyrus said, with an expansive gesture. “Goodness knows it’ll take that long just to get this pig-sty under control.”

“Thanks,” Sans said, quietly.

A comforting hug would likely be painful given the demon’s remaining injuries, so Papyrus settled for patting him lightly on the arm. “You’re welcome. Go lie down.”

Sans nodded and returned to his bed, and Papyrus returned to cleaning. He could have simply waited until he was rested to miraculously put the apartment into a state of perfect cleanliness, but he found he really rather enjoyed cleaning the mortal way. As he cleared off side tables and counters, he wondered what other mortal activities might prove rewarding.

Cooking could be fun. The mortals on the cooking programs always seemed to be having a good time. Oh, and automobiles held a certain fascination. Not the most efficient way to get around when flying was an option, but they were so shiny!

Sound dampened by distance and a pane of glass, Papyrus heard the faint, rustling scritch of claws on concrete.

The balcony! Something was trying to get inside! Dropping the trash bag, he sprinted for the bedroom.

A flanged mace took form in his hand as he burst through the doorway, and he had to spread his wings to slow himself before he slammed into the sliding glass door. His gaze swept the balcony. Where were the Nephilim?

A fat pigeon fluttered up onto the railing, peering reproachfully at him through one beady red eye. It cooed once and flew off in a small rustle of wings, leaving the balcony deserted.

“Papyrus?”

Papyrus turned to find the demon watching him, tense and trembling.

Sans squinted, trying in vain to block the light from Papyrus’ blazing halo with one hand. "You wanna tone it down a little? Feel like I'm going fuckin’ blind."

"Oh! Sorry." Papyrus took a few deep breaths. Air wasn't physiologically necessary, of course, but the action helped calm him. His halo dimmed by degrees, though it remained brighter than normal. Apparently he’d been more on edge than he’d thought.

"What's got you all piss and vinegar all of a sudden?" Still shaking, Sans made a show of leaning nonchalantly against the headboard.

Papyrus returned his gaze to the sliding door, checking once more for anything suspicious he might have missed. "I thought I heard something on the balcony," he said, shaking his head. "But it was just a bird."

Sans grinned. "Heh. Yeah, I leave ‘em potato chips sometimes." He nodded toward the mace, a little too casual. "Figured you for a flaming sword kinda guy."

“Our choir don’t get those, if you’d forgotten.” Papyrus shifted the mace to his other hand, self-conscious. "I prefer not to use a weapon, in any case."

"Clearly,” Sans said, arching a brow. “What changed between getting your wing all mangled up and now? Or do you just hate pigeons that much?"

Papyrus shrugged, finding it difficult to quantify exactly what had just made him able to hold a weapon he hadn't used for millennia.

Perhaps it was something to do with an evening filled with broken bones and screams and knowing that it could have been much worse, that it could have been cold silence that greeted him in this apartment. Maybe that had pulled him slightly closer to the center on the issue of non-violent conflict resolution. He was an avowed pacifist and he did still fervently believe that a lot of the world's troubles could be solved if there was a little more listening and a lot less hitting-- a view that applied to mortals and immortals alike. He didn't even hold the Nephilim's attack on Sans against them, in and of itself. They seemed to be, by all accounts, small and weak and fearful creatures.

But they'd hurt his friend very badly. And Papyrus found he didn't much care that they were probably scared of the demon, and may have been trying to avenge and protect their own friends, if they considered their fellow lesser demons to be friends.

He’d been trying his hardest to care all night, to consider their side.

They would have killed Sans if he hadn't managed to fight them off and get away. They'd taken one of his horns. Like they were proud of brutalizing him.

Papyrus didn't care about their side. He wanted to keep this from happening again. He wanted them gone, out of the city he’d grown so fond of and away from his friend.

"Not gonna answer me?"

The angel blinked. "Hmm?" …Oh, yes, Sans had asked him a question. A question he couldn’t quite recall. "I’m sorry, I was thinking."

"Since you just spent a couple hours patching my busted ass back together," Sans said, grinning, "I won't make the obvious joke."

Whatever the joke would have been, it wasn't obvious to Papyrus. Sans didn’t elaborate, though, so he didn’t ask.

"So," the demon said. "Safe to say the vermin have been multiplying, or at least they're getting bolder." He sighed. "Can't believe I'm saying this, but maybe you should tell your boss about it."

Papyrus blinked in surprise. "You want me to call a seraph down here?"

"Well, give me some warning so I can skip town for a few days or something, but yeah." Sans shrugged, wincing when the motion moved wings that would be sore for some time. "My superiors Downstairs won't care. They figure it's survival of the fittest up here, and usually I like that fine. This many Nephilim in one place, though… That’s a problem."

Papyrus agreed wholeheartedly with that assessment. “How many would you say there were?”

Sans looked thoughtful for a moment, idly rubbing at the base of his broken horn. “Kinda hard to count while I was getting curb-stomped. Two or three dozen?”

Wow. That was a lot. Still, if a being were prepared…

“And where did it happen?” Papyrus adjusted his grip on the mace. It had been such a long time since he’d last held it. The carved ivory felt foreign in his hand.

Sans glared sharply at him. “Why?”

Rolling his eyes, Papyrus scoffed. “Well, I need to be able to tell her where to look, don’t I?” Where was the trust?

“Oh, right. My bad.” Sans grinned, sheepish. "It was near the park. They seem to congregate just south of it."

Papyrus nodded. There were dozens of parks in the city, but only one was the park. Given the circumstances surrounding their first meeting, it made sense that the Nephilim had a strong presence there.

“Um,” Sans said, drawing him from his thoughts again. “Do you want to maybe hang out in here for a couple hours? You look kinda run down.” He scooted over to make room on the bed.

The last thing Papyrus felt like doing was lying down. His wings twitched, itching to move after the recent false alarm. “One of us should stay awake.”

“Don’t go to sleep, then.”

Papyrus noted the way Sans hunched on the bed, newly-mended wings quivering. He was probably somewhat shaken after being woken so violently, which was Papyrus’ own fault for overreacting to a blasted pigeon scouting for chips outside. “Very well,” he said, sighing. “Just for an hour.” He settled down on the bed, resting his head on his folded arms.

“Good,” Sans said, relaxing almost immediately. He pulled one of Papyrus’ wings over himself like a feathery comforter and went back to sleep.

Papyrus didn't sleep. The rest might have done him some good in this instance, but he was far too preoccupied to let himself fully relax. He listened to his friend's gentle snoring from beneath his wing while he stared out at the balcony and pondered what to do about the Nephilim.

Sans was right about one thing-- Undyne would have to be informed about the out-of-control infestation. Still…he knew where they were. If he were careful, he could probably take care of them himself. It was moderately risky, yes, but the demon had only fared so badly because they'd had the element of surprise. Papyrus would be going in aware of their numbers and with his mace at the ready.

He'd still report the situation to Undyne, but wouldn't it be so much nicer to be able to tell her that he'd already gotten the matter under control?

Yes! She'd be proud of him, and it wouldn't be necessary for her to come down here, which also meant no chance of her finding signs of a demon living in the city, which was a tiny detail that he'd never _quite_ got around to reporting to her. If one of the Nephilim still had possession of Sans’ stolen horn, it would be all too possible for Undyne to run across it while she was smiting them, and that wouldn’t do. At best, the horn would never make it back to its rightful owner, and at worst…

Well, it didn't bear thinking about, really.

No, he'd have to settle this himself. He was sure he could. Of course he could! He could salvage this whole mess, making the city safer for Sans and the resident mortals and adding a heroic act to his resume in one fell swoop.

And he was going to take his friend’s horn back while he was at it. The sooner, the better.


	4. Guess who's going to dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For crawly, who wanted a 'meet the family' scenario, with Annoying Dog cameo.  
> Content: Papster (unrelated), mild romcom shenanigans

At the risk of sounding like a histrionic teenager: Gaster had nothing to wear.

Or rather, he wasn’t sure what would be appropriate attire for dinner with a romantic prospect’s family. The contents of his closet lay spread out over the bed. Nothing presented itself as an obvious candidate. Not that there was a great deal of diversity in his wardrobe: all black and gray, simple cuts, decent material. He’d never seen any point in ostentation, and the modern era’s trend toward more somber menswear was among the changes he’d welcomed with open arms, right alongside electricity and the integrated circuit.

Holding two slightly different ties up to the mirror, he frowned. Which shade was better? Which knot was customary in this situation? Or perhaps he wasn’t meant to wear a tie at all. That would be his luck, to arrive overdressed and make it plain to both brothers how painfully out of touch he was.

Gaster had never been terribly well-versed in these matters, and the social mores around courtship had changed quite a bit since his younger days. He’d been honestly surprised to learn that matches were no longer negotiated by the affected parties’ families. He cringed at the memory of asking Papyrus to whom he should direct his inquiries. The young skeleton had been highly amused.

“Oh, you don’t want to ask Sans a thing like that! He’ll just take it as an opportunity to inflict his usual japes on you.”

There had been something underneath the amusement when Papyrus had looked at him, once he’d gotten his laughter under control. Had it been pity? Or second thoughts?

Sighing, Gaster studied the dour face looking back at him from the mirror. “You’re getting old,” he said to his reflection. Perhaps he should call the whole misadventure off and retire from the social scene to putter around in his lab the way Asgore puttered around with his blasted flowers.

Self-pity evaporated in a sudden wave of irritation. What was he doing, thinking in such a way? He was the Royal Scientist! He was widely renowned and respected, he had a long and continuing career in service to the royal family itself, as well as a list of accomplishments that would put other monsters to shame! He had nothing to prove. And age notwithstanding, he’d always considered himself to be fairly attractive. He’d never had any complaints in the past, at any rate.

Yes, any rational monster would consider themselves lucky to have his attention. He was sure Papyrus was of a like mind, or why invite him over for this odd modern ritual?

Not that Gaster considered himself the marrying type, but things really had been so much simpler in his day. What was wrong with bringing matters to their logical conclusion directly? Why go through all this ‘dating’ fuss, once he’d made his intentions known and been accepted? It all left him feeling somewhat uncertain, as though each ‘date’ were a puzzle he stood every chance of failing. And, like a series of puzzles, every time he succeeded the next challenge was that much more difficult and the stakes that much higher.

There was something compelling about the affair— he wouldn’t deny that. But there was also nothing wrong with having the trophy safely locked away, so to speak. He had no idea how long he was expected to carry on before his target was successfully wooed, or whether he’d recognize victory if and when it did happen.

To be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure what he would do in the event that he did win Papyrus. The thought alone was alarming. A lifetime of bachelorhood couldn’t be easily cast aside…

Taking a deep breath, Gaster exhorted himself to relax. This wasn’t a formal negotiation. This was simply dinner.

…And he still didn’t know what to wear.

 

It was snowing in Snowdin. Gaster wasn’t overly fond of the cold and damp, but the caverns large enough to form their own weather patterns offered a small reminder of the surface. If one ignored the distant cave walls, one could almost pretend to be back at home.

He brushed aside the odd swell of homesickness and returned his attention to the evening ahead of him. Turning up the collar of his coat against the wind, he stepped out onto the ferry landing and made his way into town.

“Good evening, Dr. Gaster! What’s that you’ve got?”

Even in this weather, there was no shortage of monsters milling about on the road. Gaster raised a noncommittal hand by way of greeting the unknown monster, as well as to signal that he had no time to stop and chat. What he did on his own time was none of their business. He shifted the bottle of wine he held to his opposite side and out of public view, tucking it into the crook of his elbow. This evening was likely to be taxing enough without being accosted by nosy strangers en route.

Was wine an appropriate gift for this sort of occasion? It seemed standard, but he’d never seen Papyrus drink. Would he be displeased with it?

Gaster shook his head, annoyed with himself. There was no logical reason to be nervous. He and Papyrus had shared meals before now. The only difference was the venue and the addition of Papyrus’ brother.

The gaudy fairy lights festooning the eaves of the brothers’ house could be seen in the distance as Gaster rounded the corner of the small library, casting colored light onto the snow. The lights must have been Papyrus’ addition to their home. He did seem to have a flair for the ridiculous.

The house was at the very edge of town, and it was with mingled irritation and relief that Gaster finally reached it. The walk from the ferry landing was far enough that the chill had time to seep in through his coat, and he had a dusting of snow on his shoulders. Having no shoes suitable for the climate, his feet were nearly numb.

Hoping that he didn’t look too bedraggled after his walk, Gaster knocked at the door. A muffled explosion of voices issued from inside, and he waited on the front step for the argument to conclude. At length, the door creaked open.

The skeleton in the doorway wasn’t Papyrus. Gaster blinked down at him. This must have been the brother. There wasn’t much of a family resemblance between the two, but the shorter skeleton did look remarkably familiar for some reason.

“What’s up, doc?” the brother said, with casual impertinence. Such a personality flaw must run in the family. “Come on in, you look frozen.”

Gaster stepped inside. The house was warm, and smelled like some sort of food, whether appetizing or not.

The brother’s gaze fell on the wine bottle. “Oh, booze! Nice.” Gaster passed him the bottle, grateful to be rid of the painfully cold container. “And it’s not even that cheap box stuff. I’m impressed.” He offered his other arm with a sweeping gesture. “If you’ll allow me to take your coat?”

Gaster shrugged off his coat and handed it over, whereupon it was unceremoniously tossed onto the couch. Well. He could have done that himself.

His attention wandered to the sweater Papyrus’ brother was wearing, which drew the eye the way rotting garbage drew flies.

The man caught him staring and aimed a gap-toothed grin up at him. “I know, right? Isn’t this the greatest thing you’ve ever seen?” His tone was delighted. “Papyrus said to ‘make an effort’ tonight, so you’re welcome.”

“It’s certainly…colorful,” Gaster said, trying to discern any kind of deliberate pattern in the knit. The young man didn’t seem at all put out to be wearing it. Had Papyrus chosen it for him? If so, then Gaster really had to instill a more developed sense of aesthetics in him.

“My bro’s still wrapped up in the kitchen, so you can just hang out for a few.” The brother let one eye socket drift shut in a lazy wink. “You know how he gets with this stuff. Right?”

Something about the question had the unmistakable feeling of a test. “Well, given that this is something of a special occasion, it’s quite understandable,” Gaster said, diplomatically. While he wasn’t thrilled to be forced to socialize with a perfect stranger, he was perfectly capable of comporting himself as a gentleman. He certainly wasn’t going to speak churlishly about his intended in front of the family.

The brother nodded. Apparently that was the correct reply.

They stood in silence for a moment. Gaster had never been one to keep a conversation going. He loathed small talk, and had never developed much skill in the art of pointless chatter.

His discomfort only increased as the brother’s grin widened. What was so amusing?

“Yes?” Gaster asked, when the silence grew too crushing even for him.

The man crossed his arms and shook his head. “Heh. You don’t recognize me one bit, do you?”

Gaster frowned. “Should I?” He racked his brain for where he’d seen this skeleton before. He did look vaguely familiar…

“Ha! Wow, that makes my whole night,” the man said, with no trace of offense. He was practically beaming now. “The department has a betting pool going on whether you’d remember my name or not, and you’ve exceeded expectations, boss.” He snickered to himself. “You just won me enough gold to keep me in burgers and beer for a week.”

“Excuse me?” Gaster’s annoyance short-circuited as he processed the rest of the skeleton’s statement. Department? Boss?

Oh, damn. This was one of his employees.

Said employee smirked. “Papyrus never mentioned me? Not even to complain?”

Come to think of it, Papyrus had said something once or twice about his brother working at the lab. Gaster didn’t pay much attention to what he considered to be irrelevant. And Papyrus did talk an awful lot sometimes.

“It may have come up once,” Gaster hedged. “Some time ago.”

The brother shook his head. “Since you don’t recognize my face, even though I say hi to you literally every day,” he added pointedly, “I won’t ask you to guess my name.”

Gaster was about to point out that many monsters greeted him in the lab whom he didn’t know in the slightest, but thought better of it. Such a statement might not be taken in the proper spirit.

What was the man’s name? He was sure Papyrus had mentioned it before. Something with an ‘S,’ and their names followed some asinine theme. Sorrel? Sedge?

“It’s Sans,” the brother said, taking pity on him. “I head Physics and Metaphysics.”

Ah. One of the more minor departments. “Yes,” Gaster said, nodding. “I believe Papyrus mentioned that.” He probably had, at some point while Gaster had been thinking over some research-related problem or other and thus tuned him out.

Gaster heaved a weary sigh. He should have paid better attention to the fact that he was courting the sibling of an employee. Sans and his colleagues had been placing wagers on the goings-on of this very evening, which meant that the Physics and Metaphysics department knew of the recent change in their employer’s relationship status. Assuming they hadn’t spread their gossip throughout the entire lab…

Wonderful. How many monsters were talking about this? God forbid word reach the king, or Gaster would never know another moment’s peace.

Thankfully, Papyrus chose this moment to rescue him, striding from the kitchen in a crisp apron. The domestic look was really rather charming, to Gaster’s own surprise. The effect was, however, somewhat lessened by the clipboard in the skeleton’s hand. Gaster wasn’t a cook by any stretch of the imagination, but he was fairly sure clipboards didn’t factor into the proceedings.

“Good evening, Dr. Gaster!” he called, with the (also charming) habit of using his honorific. Such formality must surely be considered old-fashioned now. “Sorry to keep you waiting, but this is a new recipe and it’s at a critical stage.”

“It’s no trouble,” Gaster stammered, still somewhat taken aback by the apron. He stumbled for a follow-up comment. “You’re looking well this evening.”

“Yes, I am! Thank you for noticing.”

In truth, what Gaster could see of Papyrus’ outfit under the apron seemed to continue his tendency for sartorial chaos. Perhaps in time, he could guide Papyrus toward more sophisticated clothing choices in the interest of good taste and avoiding eyestrain, but for now he could write the odd fashion sense off as a harmless quirk.

Papyrus noticed the wine bottle that had (somehow) migrated from Sans’ hand to the floor. “Oh, you brought a gift! You’re good at this.” He pulled a pen from the pocket of his apron, clicking it open with a brisk gesture. “I’m obliged to tell you that you shouldn’t have,” he said, and made a mark on whatever he had clamped to the clipboard.

Gaster was immediately put on edge. Was he…being graded?

“Sans,” Papyrus said sternly, still making notes. “The table is only a few steps away, you know. We’ve discussed this.”

Sans picked up the wine. “Heh. You got me, bro.” He walked with exaggerated leisure to the table and set the wine down again.

Gaster paid only cursory attention to this, because Papyrus’ forthright tone of voice was rather intriguing and he needed a moment to recover. As stimulating as their discussions of puzzle theory were, being in Papyrus’ home was showing him a whole new side of his companion’s personality.

“Any reason not to open this bad boy up?” Sans said, eying the bottle. “Or are we being weird about it?”

Papyrus consulted his clipboard. “Given the wait time until the meal is ready, I suppose drinks would be appropriate in this circumstance.” He wrote something down, frowning faintly.

“Awesome. I know this guy could use a drink,” Sans said, jerking a thumb in Gaster’s direction. “Eh, boss?”

Gaster bristled. Sans’ over-familiar manner was quickly becoming grating. He didn’t appreciate the attempt to make him out to be some faint-hearted fool in front of Papyrus, either. Surely Gaster had his nerves well under control, so he could see no reason for the comment aside from pure juvenile spite.

“We’re more used to bathtub pruno ‘round these parts,” Sans went on, going so far as to give Gaster a light-hearted slap on the arm as he passed by on his way to the kitchen, “but I think I can scare up a corkscrew.”

Papyrus sighed and shook his head, turning to Gaster. “I assure you we don’t distill alcohol in the bathtub.”

“Not at all. I assumed your brother was merely being humorous.”

“Oh, don’t say that word around him,” Papyrus said, laying a cautioning hand on Gaster’s arm. “He’ll think you’re making a bone pun.”

Anyone working at the royal lab, Sans included, would know better than to presume Gaster was ever making a pun under any circumstances. However, he sympathized with Papyrus’ wish not to encourage additional idiocy on the part of his brother. He didn’t say as much, of course, but sufficed with, “I’ll endeavor to avoid any remark he might seize upon, if that would put you at ease.”

He would have liked to put Sans in his place and spare himself any further nonsense. This was a social call, however, and outside of a work context there was little Gaster could do about Sans’ rudeness. For the duration of this dinner, it was Sans who held sway in his role as the de facto head of Papyrus’ family. The whole purpose of the visit, as far as Gaster could fathom, was to make a favorable impression with the man, irritating and frivolous as he was.

Sans very clearly knew this, too, and was milking the situation for all it was worth.

Once the wine had been poured (into mismatched tumblers— but wine glasses were delicate and hard to come by), Papyrus consulted the clipboard again. This time, Gaster was close enough to sneak a glance over his shoulder. It was a schedule of sorts— a checklist with a time table for each item. A line had been added for aperitifs, squeezed in between ‘Artful and Charming Greeting’ and ‘Table Arrangements.’ Papyrus had also made a note of Gaster’s gift, and, yes, had assigned it a point value. There was a similar number next to the item labeled ‘Genuine Compliment.’

Had Papyrus been doing that for their entire association? …How many points did he have?

Papyrus idly swirled the wine in his glass, studying the table. “Now, as to the seating arrangement,” he said. “I couldn’t find a suitable reference, so we’ll have to decide on something ourselves.”

Gaster had a suspicion that Papyrus would be the only one doing the deciding.

“Maybe it would be simplest to go alphabetically, with Dr. Gaster here,” Papyrus went on, pointing Gaster to the head of the table. He stood at the table’s side, and gently pushed his brother to the far end. “And me here, and Sans at the end, like so.”

Gaster had no sooner seated himself than Papyrus frowned.

“No, wait a moment,” he said. “It’s Sans’ name on the deed to the house, so maybe he should sit at the head of the table, and I’ll sit at the end, and Dr. Gaster can sit in the middle.”

Standing, Gaster dutifully moved to the space vacated by Papyrus while Sans walked around to his previous seat and Papyrus scooted down to the end.

Papyrus smiled. “Yes, that’s much better!” The smile wavered almost at once. “Although it might not be proper for us to sit next to each other,” he said, peering at Gaster. “Perhaps it would be better for us to be seated across from one another instead.”

Was this another test? Doing his best to keep his building irritation from showing, Gaster allowed himself to be herded to the end of the table. Sans meandered to the middle seat, grinning to himself all the while, and Papyrus took his new place at the head of the table.

“Oh, no,” Papyrus said, the very instant Gaster sat down. “We can’t have our guest sitting at the end of the table. I’m sure that’s poor manners!”

With a barely-contained sigh, Gaster let Papyrus rearrange him again, whereupon he found himself at the head of the table once more, with Sans across from him and Papyrus at his elbow.

At last, Papyrus seemed satisfied. “There! Perfect!”

Gaster frowned. They’d all ended up right back where they’d started, but he wasn’t going to be the one to say so out loud. He still wasn’t sure all that nonsense hadn’t been some obscure test of his resolve, in which case he would make sure that he earned passing marks. Grateful that this particular ordeal was over, he sat down and took a longer-than-usual sip of his wine.

Papyrus, still standing, made a check-mark on his clipboard. Seating everyone at the table normally wouldn’t be a noteworthy accomplishment, but it seemed there was little that he couldn’t turn into a major endeavor. “There’s still a quarter of an hour before dinner,” he announced. “Which means now would be the perfect time for a tour of the house!”

Really, it was Gaster’s own fault for assuming it was safe to sit down. He stood again. After a few seconds of internal debate, he set down his glass. The risk of spilling wine on the hideous carpet wasn’t worth the comfort the alcohol would give.

Sans leaned an elbow on the table, reaching out with his free hand to pull the wine bottle closer. “Seen it,” he said, taking a generous swig from his glass. “You two go have fun, and I’ll make sure the food doesn’t burn.”

Papyrus rolled his eyes. “Don’t drink all the wine,” he scolded.

“I won’t.”

“And don’t leave a tiny amount in the bottle, either! I know your ways.” Papyrus crossed his arms. There was that commanding tone of voice again. “You can have one more glass after that one, and then that’s it until dinner.”

Sans waved him off with an assenting grunt.

Papyrus’ brother might be immune, but Gaster found himself momentarily lost in a vision of Papyrus confidently wrangling the miscreants cluttering up his lab. How pleasant would it be to have a dedicated manager, leaving him blissfully undisturbed to work? No interruptions, no inane questions, no bureaucratic nonsense. Gaster had read several accounts over the years of scientists’ parters acting as help-meets in similar ways, though he’d never found the idea applicable to himself until now.

And Papyrus would eventually need a more fitting profession than that of a rank and file sentry, wouldn’t he?. It would be trivial to create a new position for him. Something like ‘Laboratory Manager’ might suit for a title, or ‘Personnel Lead.’ Unless he would prefer to stay home, of course. Gaster took another look at the apron. Yes, he could see the appeal of coming home to a welcoming smile and a hot meal at the end of the day.

…If he were the marrying type, which he wasn’t. In any case, he was getting ahead of himself.

“The kitchen is a mess at the moment,” Papyrus said, though from what Gaster could see through the archway there was nothing out of place other than what Papyrus was using to cook with. “But that still leaves the vast majority of the house!”

He took hold of Gaster’s hand and tugged him away from the table. “Here’s the living room!” he said, stopping not ten paces away.

“Er, very nice,” Gaster said. Never mind that the dining and living areas were in the same room, and he’d seen all this from the moment he’d stepped inside.

Papyrus nodded. “Yes! As you can see, it’s quite spacious and nicely decorated.”

There was scarcely more than a weathered sofa and a color television in the room. Still, Gaster made a noise of agreement.

“My room is the best space in the house, as you might expect. It’s just upstairs.” With another insistent tug, Papyrus pulled Gaster toward the stairs.

From his place at the table, Sans snickered. “Heh. Leave the door open, you two.”

The only thing keeping Gaster from simply excusing himself and going home right then and there was the fact that such a retreat would be even more embarrassing than staying. Also, Papyrus had a firm grip on his hand, and it was unlikely that Gaster would have been able to pull away without considerable effort. He was all the more aware of the slender hand gripping his own after such a prurient comment.

“Pay no attention to him,” Papyrus said, with a prim sneer. “Just because no one in their right mind would chance entering his room…” As they reached the top of the stairs, he gestured to the door at the far end of the loft. “He keeps it locked as a matter of public health and safety.”

“I see.” Gaster had little interest in Sans’ living space to begin with. He would admit to curiosity about Papyrus’ room. From a purely psychological standpoint, of course. What a monster chose to keep near them offered insights into their personality, or so he had read.

Papyrus opened the door and led him inside. “It’s too early for the material from Chapter Seventeen, anyway,” he added, mysteriously.

Gaster had no idea to what Papyrus was referring, but noted with marked chagrin that yes, the bedroom door remained open. It likely would have regardless of any admonition from Sans— Papyrus seemed to possess some measure of decorum that his brother lacked. He would never be so crass as to suggest any sort of impropriety during a visit such as this.

Not that Gaster was necessarily averse to impropriety, in its proper context. Though, looking around Papyrus’ bedroom, it didn’t seem the proper context at all.

“It’s a terrific room,” Papyrus said, saving Gaster the trouble of forming his own opinion. “Feel free to poke around— I estimate there’s still five minutes until dinner is ready.”

The room wasn’t anything like Gaster had expected. Granted, his expectations had carried a great deal of projection and idle daydreaming along with them. The bookcase (where he could spot three copies of his title on puzzle theory, just as Papyrus had mentioned during their first outing together) and the computer were normal enough features and met with his approval.

Since he’d been granted permission to interact with the room’s contents, Gaster pulled one of the puzzle theory books from the shelf, flipping through it. The pages were dog-eared and bristling with bookmarks. Notes filled the margins, many of which were criticisms or counter-arguments. Several of them seemed to cross-reference, but he couldn’t decipher Papyrus’ short-hand.

“I’ve run out of space,” Papyrus said, as if this were a great compliment on Gaster’s work, “so I keep documents on the computer of my own theories and rebuttals and such. I could send them to you some time!”

How wonderful. Gaster blanched at the suggestion, but managed a neutral sound of acknowledgment. Papyrus nodded happily, and let the topic go. They’d agreed beforehand that puzzle theory was not up for discussion this evening. Impassioned debates and polite get-togethers did not mix.

Replacing the book, Gaster took in the rest of the room. He didn’t know what to make of the human pirate flag on the wall, and the bed was…strange. Why was it shaped like that?

“It’s great, isn’t it? Sans found it for me,” Papyrus said, lightly kicking one ‘tire’ with the toe of his boot. “Until we get to the surface or a car somehow makes its way down here, it’s the next best thing.”

“You’re interested in automobiles?”

Why were so many monsters so taken with human technology? Gaster himself only made use of it out of necessity. Then again, what else could he expect from anyone who had only ever known life underground? Without having lived through the war, the more recent generations of monsters would see everything from the surface as an exotic wonder, whether human in origin or not.

Papyrus nodded, and made another mysterious check-mark on his list. “They’re very cool! I intend to drive one on the surface one day.”

“Yes?” As silly as the machines themselves were, Gaster could understand the longing for the surface and freedom of movement. The Underground was cruelly small.

All the more reason to continue his efforts to circumvent the Barrier. In the meantime, he would have to offer his own living space if and when the relationship progressed further and certain things became a possibility. A car-shaped bed was simply out of the question.

“So,” Papyrus said, squeezing Gaster’s hand. “What do you think?” He gave Gaster an expectant smile.

…Alright, perhaps the car-shaped bed wasn’t completely out of the question.

“It’s very…” Gaster stumbled for an honest but inoffensive answer. “It’s very you.”

Papyrus beamed. “Yes! I curate everything in this room quite carefully. I’m so glad you like it!” He leaned in and gave Gaster a light peck on the cheek.

“Is that alright?” he asked, while Gaster fought to maintain his composure. “I don’t have any lips, so I’m not sure I’m achieving the full effect.”

Dazed, Gaster nodded. “Yes,” he said, voice squeaking a bit, “completely adequate.”

This wasn’t the first such kiss Gaster had received, but physical contact between them had been rare up to this point. After such a long dry spell any gesture of affection, no matter how chaste, had a greater effect on him than he would admit to.

Papyrus looked pleased with himself, nodding. “Oh, good! I’ll make a note of it.”

No doubt he would. Gaster found himself wondering if he should do something by way of reciprocation. Had this been the ulterior purpose for the tour, to gain them a few minutes of privacy? Then again, he didn’t want too appear too forward or boorish. They’d moved with frustrating slowness so far, but he didn’t want to offend Papyrus at this crucial juncture.

Downstairs, a timer went off with a tinny, electronic ding. He’d missed his chance, if he’d had one.

“Ah! Five minutes exactly! As expected,” Papyrus said with a smile. “My timing is impeccable.” He ushered Gaster back downstairs and bustled off into the kitchen.

He didn’t seem disappointed or angry, at least. Gaster was a bit disappointed, but only at his own sudden cowardice. Surely he could have done or said something, rather than stand there like a dolt.

With Papyrus putting the finishing touches on dinner, Gaster was once again left in Sans’ company. The level of wine in the bottle suggested that the man had sneaked an extra glass. Impertinent, but given the circumstances of the evening Gaster couldn’t say he wouldn’t do the same.

“Enjoy the grand tour?” Sans grinned, as though amused at some private joke.

“You have a well-appointed home,” Gaster said, unsure what else he could be expected to say.

Sans nodded his agreement. “Yeah, it was kinda a dump when we moved in. Papyrus really classed up the place.”

Gaster made a properly approving noise. So far Papyrus was showing out to have a decent complement of household management skills.

He could feel Sans staring at him. What now? “Yes?” Gaster asked, tone growing icy. The great majority of the discomfort he’d felt this evening was at Sans’ hands and he was weary of indulging his rudeness.

Sans shrugged. “I figure we might as well get this part out of the way while he’s out of earshot,” he said, still smiling placidly. “You’re my boss, and I’m not trying to make things weird. My bro seems to like you for some reason, so whatever. I just want you to know, sincerely-” and here he laid a hand on Gaster’s arm, leaning on him pointedly “-that I will make your life a living hell if you hurt him.”

Gaster was at a loss for words. Had Sans just threatened him? “I can assure you-”

“Because if I ever hear that you’re being disrespectful or otherwise less than completely appreciative,” Sans continued, “I won’t let something as trivial as my job get in my way.” He winked. “Capisce?”

“Duly noted,” Gaster said, scowling. Yes, that was a threat, clear as day. How much of that wine had Sans had? Surely not enough to impair his judgment to such an extent.

Well, no matter. He wouldn’t allow himself to be intimidated by this buffoon. They eyed one another with fresh wariness as Papyrus, humming a light tune, set out their plates. The food looked and smelled…interesting, from a scientific standpoint if nothing else. The entree was some kind of pasta dish that had a distinct whiff of scorched carbon to it. There was also a side salad that appeared to be comprised mostly of ice flowers, grass, and pine needles. Gaster didn’t even want to contemplate the dressing.

It was too much to hope for Papyrus to be equally adept at all domestic matters. After all, one couldn’t have everything. The lack of cooking skill was hardly a deal breaker, as Gaster had never minded subsisting on takeaway food. That wouldn’t be an option tonight, unfortunately.

“Looks great, bro,” Sans said, with apparent sincerity.

Papyrus removed his apron, seating himself. “Yes, I followed the recipe precisely, so it should be perfect.”

Gaster took a second look at his plate. A bit of black char stuck up from the lump of pasta. Perhaps it was the recipe at fault? “I’m sure you brought out the dish’s full potential,” he offered, in what he felt to be a masterful preservation of his own integrity.

Sans shot him a warning look from across the table.

“Thank you!” Papyrus beamed, and made one last check-mark before setting the clipboard aside.

Dinner itself comprised of more small talk, and if Gaster found himself contributing more than he might have otherwise it was because talking precluded him from eating. Inane chatter gave him respite from forcing down bite after bite of dry pasta and burnt sauce. Even the alleged salad wasn’t so bad by comparison, though he’d be picking bits of pine needle from his teeth for the rest of the night.

He bit down on a yelp of surprise as something prodded his inner thigh. Careful to keep his face neutral, Gaster cast a glance at Papyrus. The young skeleton was merrily chattering away, and gave no indication of being up to any funny business. Gaster turned his attention to Sans, but met with the same conclusion. There was no way the man’s legs were long enough to reach, in any event. Thank goodness.

A wet spot was forming on his pant leg. What in the world…?

Peeking under the edge of the table, Gaster met the doleful eyes of a medium-sized white dog. It was clearly not any kind of monster, but simply a dog— a rarity in the Underground.

He hadn’t seen any sign of a dog all evening, and neither of the brothers had mentioned having one. How peculiar. While he wasn’t thrilled at the drool on his pants, Gaster saw a distinct opportunity in the animal’s presence. Carefully, so as not to draw attention, he took a forkful of the questionable pasta concoction and ‘dropped’ it halfway to his mouth.

As predicted, the dog snapped it up immediately. Seeming to find no fault with the food, it looked up at Gaster imploringly, tongue lolling out in a lazy grin. Gaster repeated the procedure, much to the dog’s delight.

Gaster scanned the table furtively. Had he been noticed? Evidently not, as the conversation continued without a pause. Bite by bite, he slipped his meal down to the dog. Within minutes, the inedible mess was gone.

“Oh!” Papyrus said, chancing to look over and see the empty plate. “You must really enjoy my cooking!” Grinning, he chiseled another helping from the pan and lumped it onto Gaster’s plate. “Here, please have as much as you like!”

“Yeah,” Sans said, with a wink. “No need to be shy, boss.”

“Certainly! You’re our guest, after all!” Papyrus nodded decisively while Gaster looked down with concealed dismay at the fresh heap of scorched pasta.

“You’re too kind, truly.” Gaster glanced under the table, but the dog had wandered off. Damn. Freedom had been so close. Now he had no choice but to eat what had been set before him, an even larger portion than before.

As the meal progressed and Gaster’s taste buds died off, the conversation drifted toward science. Here, Gaster was far more comfortable. The topic also afforded an opportunity to check up on what the lab’s various departments were up to. Although he was the Royal Scientist, Gaster had never cared for the administrative aspects of the position, preferring to save most of his mental energies for his own projects. It didn’t do to neglect the techs working under him for too long, though. Who knew what kind of idiocy they’d get up to if left to their own devices?

The Physics and Metaphysics department especially seemed to be involved in a lot of meaningless fluff. Shaking his head, Gaster held down a scoff at Sans’ conjectures on a ‘theory of strings’ or some-such nonsense. Eleven dimensions, what rot!

“Ah,” Papyrus said, pushing away from the table. “Quantum physics. I get lost once he starts going on about hyperbolic space.” He gathered their plates. Gaster sent up a silent prayer of thanks that the meal appeared to be ending. “I’ll just clean this up while you two chat.”

Was that normal? Was he supposed to offer to help? Gaster wasn’t sure on the proper protocol regarding dishes. Would staying at the table signal that he expected Papyrus to shoulder all the housework in future (if such a future ever materialized), or would escaping into the kitchen with him imply that he wanted to avoid speaking to Sans? There was no clear answer.

Hedging his bets, he offered, “Would you care for help?” Surely that was a safe statement.

“You don’t wanna do that,” Sans said. “No matter what you do, he’d just redo it. He likes things a certain way.”

“’A certain way’ being clean,” Papyrus fired back. “And no,” he added, glare dissipating as his shifted his attention to Gaster. “You’re our guest this evening, and guests don’t do chores.” He delivered the pronouncement like a holy writ, and vanished into the kitchen, leaving Gaster alone with his brother.

Sans leaned his chin on his hand. “See? It’s better to just let him handle it. Anyway,” he said, grinning. “What do you think?”

Gaster pulled his attention from the sight of Papyrus deftly hopping up onto the counter. How on earth did that sink make any sense…? “Think about what?”

“The theory,” Sans said, blinking slowly. His voice held a tone of practiced patience. “Or did you not follow it? I can sketch it out for you, it’s okay.”

Papyrus’ voice rang out from the kitchen. “Sans, if I catch you drawing on the table again…!”

With a resigned shrug, Sans grinned and leaned back in his chair.

“I understood perfectly well,” Gaster said, peeved at his own blush, as well as at the condescension from one of his own assistants. And not even a direct assistant, at that! Physics was a minor department, ranking far below more important disciplines like thaumics or alchemy.

Sans tapped his chin thoughtfully. “So, you’ll look at our budget proposal again? We’re pretty strapped right now.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Gaster warned, frowning. How crass, using a social call to angle for funding. If Sans thought the dinner would act as a bribe, he was sorely misled.

“Aw, c’mon, boss. You gotta admit, we’re on to something.”

“Tch!” Gaster turned up…well, not his nose, as he lacked one, but the gesture was obvious regardless. “Human foolishness.”

“Well, it’s not like we’re positioned to make much more progress on our own,” Sans said, leaning an elbow on the table. “They’re the ones launching satellites and building supercolliders and-”

“They can do those things because they’re not trapped below the earth!” As if such shallow pursuits were anything to rival the Core…

“I’m not arguing that. I’m just saying, they have an actual scientific community with, like, competing theories and progress and stuff.”

Gaster wasn’t at all sure he liked the attitude this younger generation took toward humanity. What was King Asgore allowing them to teach in those schools his estranged wife was so adamant about? “We are making progress.”

“Are we? No offense, boss, but you’ve been hammering at that Core project for how long now? Are we any closer to getting it to do…whatever it is you want it to do?”

Gaster frowned. “If you’re trying to get me to share information above your clearance…”

“I’m asking for a yes or no answer.” Sans frowned. “You think all of us at the lab don’t want that barrier down? If we’re just going in circles, then we should start looking at something else to try. Isn’t that the point of the basic departments, to turn up anything that could be useful?”

This was certainly not the turn Gaster had expected the evening to take. He was on the edge of asserting that there was very little that human sciences had to offer when Papyrus reentered the room.

“You two sound lively out here,” he said, smiling. “Enjoying your math?” He reclaimed his clipboard, making another note with a cheerful flourish.

Sans leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, bro. The boss was just talking about upping the department’s budget.”

What? Gaster glared daggers at Sans. He’d said no such thing! How bold must the man be, to tell such a enormous lie.

Papyrus clasped his hands. “Oh, how wonderful! You’re always saying how short on money you are.”

“Yeah, the rest of the crew should be pretty happy.” Sans had the nerve to wink at him from across the table.

“Yes, well,” Gaster stammered, but it was already too late to protest, if the pleased expression on Papyrus’ face and Sans’ knowing smirk were any indication.

“I’m sure you’ll figure out something,” Sans said. Had he no shame?

“Yes,” Papyrus agreed. “You’re so intelligent, I’m sure a bit of bookkeeping will pose no challenge at all.” He patted Gaster’s arm.

The pair looked at him with twin smiles. Gaster wasn’t sure if the sudden uneasiness in his stomach was due to the dubious food he’d just eaten or the realization that he was going to spend days going over the lab’s finances and possibly petitioning the king for gold because not doing so would disappoint Papyrus. It occurred to him that attaching himself to Papyrus carried the downside of giving his incorrigible brother undue influence over the workings of the lab. For now, though, he had to stay in the good graces of Papyrus’ family, however much of a scoundrel Sans was proving to be. Hopefully enduring such blatant extortion would pay off. …Unless the brothers were in on it together, but surely that wasn’t what was going on.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Gaster muttered, trying not to notice how happy Papyrus seemed at this, and failing.

At the conclusion of the evening, Papyrus stood on the front step with him as they said their farewells.

“Sans approves,” Papyrus said. “I think you made a good impression.”

“I should certainly hope so,” Gaster said, still fuming over the budget increase he’d been so swiftly and unceremoniously railroaded into. How was he supposed to find money for that? And it was such a waste of resources, too.

Papyrus didn’t notice his mood, busily tallying up a final score on his clipboard. “Yes, it looks like this all went extremely well! We should do it again soon.”

Gaster wasn’t sure the lab’s ledgers (not to mention his stomach) would survive another evening like this, but he found himself nodding regardless.

“I think a hug would be appropriate, don’t you?” Papyrus set the clipboard aside and wrapped Gaster in a tight hug, head tucked under Gaster’s chin. He was warm, and smelled of dish detergent.

Oh.

After a moment’s panic over where to place his hands, Gaster returned the hug, not as naturally as Papyrus but to the best of his ability. The embrace lasted a great deal longer than the peck on the cheek had earlier, and when Papyrus stepped back Gaster was left rather unsteady on his feet.

“Thank you for coming over,” Papyrus said, squeezing Gaster’s hand and smiling brightly. “I had a great time.”

“Yes,” Gaster stammered, the entire miserable ordeal fading in the light of the goodnight hug. “Very nice.”

What had he gotten himself into?


	5. He’s totally got this, don’t even trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Mysterious Benefactor, more angelic shenanigans. The (possibly?) thrilling continuation of the last bit.  
> Content: generic violence, Sans saying the occasional fuckwords.

Sans groaned, barely conscious but already mad about being anything close to awake. He'd been warm and cozy, and now he wasn't. Groggy, he reached for the angel's wing, or a blanket or something. No blankets. No conveniently fluffy wings. His hand groped blindly over the mattress, finding only some shredded fluff and a few shed feathers. Grumbling, he pushed himself up on his elbows.

 

He regretted moving immediately. There might have been a few inconsequential spots on his body that didn't hurt, but they were drowned out by the otherwise all-over throb of pain.

 

"Urgh," he said, shoving as much unhappiness at his lot in life as he could into one syllable.

 

He recalled begging Papyrus to just cut the damned things off while the angel had been healing his wings. They weren't at quite that level of screaming agony anymore, but part of him wished Papyrus had taken him at his word. There was no good way to position them. Open or folded, they hurt just the same, tender and burning. He had a literally splitting headache, too, made worse by the fact that his head was off balance thanks to his missing horn.

 

Would it grow back? He really hoped so, or else he'd have to get used to one side of his head being heavier than the other. Sans could already feel stiffness building in his neck from trying to compensate. Maybe he could take a bone saw to the remaining horn and even them out?

 

He reached up gingerly to touch the stump where his horn had been, wincing at the raw, jagged surface left behind. He'd kinda liked his horns. They made him look taller, and they’d come in handy now and then when someone was in his personal bubble, or when he needed a place to hang something temporarily. Oh, well. Easy come, easy go.

 

Sighing, he rolled out of bed, steadying himself with a hand against the edge of the mattress. No doubt Papyrus couldn't rest with any hint of a mess nearby and was cleaning some more. Sans had no idea how much time had passed since he'd talked the angel into lying down, but hopefully it had been long enough that he was up for another healing session. His wings and head were doomed to hurt for a while, but maybe with more of the minor scratches and dents taken care of his overall pain levels would fall enough that he could go back to sleep.

 

Papyrus wasn't in the main room. He wasn't anywhere in the apartment, and it was only when Sans hobbled back to the bedroom that he noticed the text notification light on his phone.

 

 

/I am running an errand. Please continue to rest until my return./

/Do not be suspicious./

 

…Really?

 

Sans dragged his hand down his face. He had a feeling he knew where Papyrus had gone.

 

Son of a _bitch_.

 

 

 

~~~~~

 

 

It was just as well that Sans didn't do much flying, because his wings weren't up for any of that bullshit tonight. Appearing at the southern edge of the park, he looked around for the angel. Papyrus was painfully transparent, particularly when he was trying to be sneaky. Normally, Sans found the attempts amusing, and even approved. But while he was philosophically in favor of the angel being dishonest, he wasn’t so hot on the angel being dishonest with _him_. Especially not when Papyrus was using the opportunity to get himself into trouble.

 

The message was only twenty minutes old; he could still nip this in the bud before anything unfortunate happened. Sans traversed the length of the park, eye sockets peeled for any sign of his feather-brained companion.

 

Sans found him soon enough, standing at the mouth of an alley. As Sans hurried closer, he noticed one of the angel’s wings dragging the ground. Crap, had the Nephilim already gotten to him? Grunting with the effort, Sans pushed himself to a painful jog. Papyrus hadn’t noticed him yet, yelling something into the alley.

 

"Oh, goodness how terrible," the angel called, hands cupped around his mouth to direct the sound. "What awful timing for my wing to become injured mysteriously and suddenly! I'm _quite_ unable to fly."

 

Worry instantly evaporating, Sans slowed to a walk again, fuming. That jackass was only pretending to be hurt as part of some half-baked trick! Did he think this was a game?

 

Finally noticing his presence, Papyrus waved at him as he drew closer. "Sans! You should be resting," he said, as if he had the right to scold Sans about anything right now. "It's really not safe for you to be out here in your condition."

 

Sans crossed his arms, tail lashing with mingled anger and relief. At least he’d found Papyrus in time to keep him from doing something incredibly stupid. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

 

"I'm perpetrating a clever ruse." Papyrus smiled conspiratorially. "I appear to be grounded, and therefore helpless, but in fact I am neither."

 

"You need to come back to the apartment right now." Sans gave the angel a shove, though it didn't have much effect. Papyrus stayed exactly where he was while Sans more or less shoved himself backward. His arms and back didn't appreciate the added stress, and he cursed at the flare of pain.

 

Papyrus reached out to steady him. "Careful, you'll hurt yourself."

 

" _You're_ going to get hurt," Sans snapped. "What do you think is gonna happen, huh?"

 

"Well, I'm going to scare these ruffians off, and get-"

 

"How?" Sans interrupted, shrugging off the support. "Are you gonna actually do something this time, instead of preaching while the Nephilim tear you to shreds? Where'd that mace go? You don’t even have it ready!"

 

Papyrus scowled. "You think I'm not capable?"

 

"You're not!"

 

"You don't know that," Papyrus said, crossing his arms and glaring moodily down at Sans.

 

Sans scoffed. "I've witnessed it. What's different now?"

 

Papyrus turned his sullen glare into the alley. He straightened with a huff, his normal primness returning. "If you're not going to be supportive of my efforts, then just go and wait in your trash cave until I'm done."

 

Sans shook his head firmly. "I’m not leaving unless you come with me."

 

To his surprise, Papyrus called his bluff. Wing still theatrically trailing the ground, he walked into the alley. Sans had no choice but to follow.

 

“Come on, bro,” Sans said, growing increasingly ill at ease the farther they moved into the shadows. “You don’t need to turn this into a gang war, okay?” He might have appreciated the gesture from someone who could hold their own in a fight. As things stood, now he just felt guilty as well as embarrassed for getting jumped.

 

Papyrus waved off his concern. "It’s no trouble at all, Sans! Besides,” he said, “this is a good opportunity for me to show Undyne that I can do more than inspire mortals."

 

Oh. Sans’ shoulders drooped. This wasn’t even about him. "Your first thought was to make this a career thing?"

 

"It wasn’t my _first_ thought," Papyrus protested. "Just _a_ thought. I have a lot of them."

 

Sans made a doubtful noise in the back of his throat. Hearing Papyrus had looked at his situation and seen an opportunity stung more than he cared to admit. The angel hadn’t even waited for Sans to recover.

 

"And in any case," Papyrus went on, airily. "This is hardly a tenable state of affairs for the mortals here. I’d be negligent to let a swarm of lesser demons overrun the whole city, yes?"

 

Oh, good. So Sans rated below career advancement and the fleshbags, too.

 

"Y’know, if you wait until I'm back on my feet, I could give you a hand." This was a bald-faced lie, as Sans had zero desire to get mixed up with that large a swarm of lesser demons again. If he could get Papyrus to give up and return to the relative safety of the apartment, though, maybe he could buy enough time to talk him out of this frankly stupid idea. Or at least stall long enough for Papyrus to have some second thoughts on his own.

 

He knew Papyrus well enough to know how likely that was, but hope did spring eternal, didn’t it?

 

Papyrus shook his head. "I can handle this on my own. I'd hoped to be back before you woke up," he said, scowling as though the Nephilim were being rude by not presenting themselves to be righteously chastised. "Honestly, who would have thought they'd be so hard to find?"

 

Sans frowned. "They're more likely to find you first," he said darkly, "and I'm not gonna be much help like this."

 

"Go away, then!" Papyrus snapped. "Do you think I want you getting hurt again after I spent so long healing you?"

 

"And what's gonna happen when you get in over your head? I can't heal, in case you forgot." How anyone could forget having their wing set by hand was beyond Sans, but if anyone could dismiss a painful lesson it was Papyrus.

 

The angel was too stubborn to listen to reason. "You can't help and you're not going to dissuade me, so you may as well wait at home." He picked up his pace, forcing Sans to a trot to keep up. "Where on earth are these miserable creatures? Honestly, my feathers are getting filthy."

 

The street was far behind them now, and the darkness of the alley seemed to swallow them like the mouth of Leviathan. Sans’ newly-mended tail curled under with anxiety and his wings bunched tight against his back. This was not a good place to be. The walls of the surrounding buildings were high and the alley itself was narrow; it would be hard to get airborne if the angel was forced to take flight. Sans would have little trouble getting away provided he had some warning this time, but that was far from guaranteed. The Nephilim had already proven their ability to lay a trap.

 

But escape would mean abandoning Papyrus, and he’d seen first-hand how well the angel handled himself in a fight. No, he’d have to stick by Papyrus’ side and hope for the best. Maybe the Nephilim weren’t even in the area anymore.

 

Something moved at the corner of his vision. Bristling, he spun to face the threat.

 

A scruffy white dog returned his glare. Hackles raised, it gave him a noncommittal growl, hiked its leg to mark a nearby trash can, and trotted away.

 

Sans blew out the breath he’d been holding.

 

“There’s no need to be afraid,” Papyrus said, patting him gently on the shoulder.

 

Sans’ wing twinged at the touch, and he scoffed. “I can think of several dozen pretty good reasons to be afraid, but you don’t seem to wanna listen.”

 

Papyrus chuckled. “Well, if you insist on staying,” he said with more than a hint of sharpness to his tone, “then I’ll just have to protect you. Which I am fully capable of doing, despite your relentless nay-saying,” he added.

 

“You sure do seem to think so,” Sans sighed.

 

Being perpetually immune to sarcasm, Papyrus nodded. “Yes! It should be very little trouble to roust these miscreants, especially since you’ve softened them up for me.”

 

Sans had managed to take out his share of the little bastards while fighting for his life, but if anyone had been ‘softened up’ it had been him. There was no point in saying as much, however, so he simply grunted in reply.

 

The swarm had probably moved on to another part of town. It was close to dawn, anyway, and lesser demons seemed to hate daylight. They’d wander around searching for another hour, tops, before Papyrus simmered down. Then they’d go back to the apartment, where Sans would read him the riot act while he got the rest of his injuries healed, and by then it would be time for their soap operas, and possibly a nap. Everything would be fine.

 

A bit of trash tumbled down the fire escape in front of them. Sans flinched, but quickly calmed himself.

 

Then he heard a familiar chittering, and a chill ran up his aching spine.

 

Aw, _crap_.

 

Papyrus heard the noise too, gaze darting around the alley trying to pinpoint where it had come from. “Oh, woe is me,” he called, a little quieter and shakier than before. “I am rendered flightless and undefended! Oh, how lamentable!”

 

“Stop that,” Sans hissed, jabbing him hard in the ribs with his elbow.

 

“I do hope that I’ll be safe in this nice dark alley, with only one visible exit!”

 

Sans clapped one hand over Papyrus’ mouth, frantic to quiet him. “You’re gonna draw them over here! Shut up!”

 

The silhouette of a lesser demon slunk over the fire escape railing. Two more followed shortly thereafter, and Sans could see shadows gathering along the rooftops, slowly creeping downward. And those were just the ones he could see.

 

Fuck.

 

“You know,” he muttered to Papyrus, as the two huddled closer together, “if we die here, not only is it gonna hurt like hell the whole time, but it’s also gonna be super embarrassing.”

 

“No one’s going to die,” Papyrus replied. “I’ve got this.”

 

_No, you really don’t._ But it was already way too late to convince Papyrus how stupid this was. The fight was good and picked now. All that was left to do was try to come out the other side in one piece.

 

The Nephilim had them surrounded. They didn’t attack immediately, some innate fear of holy beings keeping them cautious. For now. It hadn’t taken long for them to lose their fear of Papyrus the first time— how long would it take now, when they had even greater numbers? Sans swept his gaze over the group. He counted twenty-three, though he wouldn’t be surprised if there were stragglers still on the roofs or hiding out of sight somewhere. If he’d been at his full strength, he’d have been worried. As he was, he knew his best bet, by far, was to run away.

 

He couldn’t. Whatever Papyrus thought, this was way beyond what he could handle on his own. Even if the angel had brought it on himself by literally looking for trouble, Sans wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he left. It was ride or die time.

 

…Or possibly just die time, Sans thought, warily eying the crowd. He would go down swinging, if it came to that.

 

He glowered up at Papyrus, ready to put everything on the line but furious that he had to. “Now would be a good time to do whatever it was you were planning on doing, hot shot.”

 

Papyrus cleared his throat. “Ahem, yes, of course.”

 

He shook the dust from his wing. The closest Nephilim skittered back a few paces in surprise. This bolstered Papyrus’ nerve somewhat, and he straighted, hands on his hips in a triumphant pose.

 

“Ha! You dunderpates have fallen for my cunning ruse!” He snapped his wings open, and the Nephilim danced back from the display. “As you can see, I’m in perfect health!”

 

Sans did his best to appear large and threatening. Given that he’d also gotten his ass handed to him just a few hours ago, the Nephilim probably weren’t buying it. The effect was lessened further by his proximity to Papyrus, who was taller and whose wingspan put his own to shame.

 

“Okay, so you’re not a lame duck like they thought,” Sans spoke out the side of his mouth. “Now what?”

 

“I was hoping they’d be awed by my majestic form, to be honest,” Papyrus said, with an uncertain grin.

 

Sans arched a brow. “You can’t be serious. That’s even worse than what you tried last time!”

 

Recovering from their initial shock, the Nephilim crept closer once more. Many of them looked worryingly curious. Were any of these the same lesser demons that had attacked Papyrus in the park all that time ago? If they were, would they remember that they’d encountered this angel before? And that he was a total cream-puff?

 

“You better turn up the awesome, bro, because the audience is lookin’ a little restless.”

 

Papyrus nodded. “I know just the thing!” With dramatic flourish, he stepped forward. “Go on! Shoo!” He made a dismissive gesture with his arms.

 

Sans slapped a hand to his forehead. They were definitely going to die. The Nephilim were going to pull them apart and make a xylophone from their bones, and Sans wouldn’t even get the satisfaction of being able to say ‘I told you so.’

 

“You’d all better clear out of here right now!” Papyrus brandished his wings, stirring up dust from the pavement as they moved. “I mean business! You’ll regret it if you take one step closer!”

 

If anything was guaranteed to make the Nephilim get closer, it was saying something like that. They were dumb, but curious. As if on cue, the circle around the pair shrank as the Nephilim crowded around, eager to see what the angel would do.

 

Sans edged closer to Papyrus, taking shelter in the shadow of one outstretched wing. At least it helped ease the feeling of eyes on his back. “Bro,” he warned. “You’re making it worse.”

 

“Nonsense,” Papyrus said, though his heroic posture was beginning to wilt. “I’m sure they’re simply too frozen with fear to run away, that’s all.”

 

“They don’t look too shook up to me.”

 

Giggles were starting to spread through the swarm, and it wasn’t nervous laughter. It was anyone’s guess how much spoken language Nephilim could understand, but they seemed to know empty bluster when they heard it.

 

A small hand closed around the end of Sans’ tail and tugged.

 

“Ack!”

 

Sans jumped in alarm, whirling to face the lesser demon that had sneaked up on him, but it was impossible to see the culprit past Papyrus’ wing. He ended up stumbling into the angel.

 

Papyrus, fearless champion of goodness and light, shrieked like a trodden-on cat. His mace materialized in his hands. The Nephilim’s laughter tapered off with a weapon in view. Now if only someone else were wielding it.

 

Before he could think better of it, Sans reached for the mace, only to draw his hand back from the white-hot ivory. “Ouch!”

 

“Careful!” Papyrus scolded, holding the mace farther away.

 

Sans nursed his burned hand, feeling like an idiot. Sometimes he forgot that Papyrus was an agent for the other side. Even the touch of a Heavenly weapon was dangerous.

 

He had bigger problems than a brush with a holy mace, though. Far from being frightened away, the Nephilim were only riled up further by the weapon. They bared their teeth, snarling and chittering angrily. Maybe they didn’t appreciate being pushed around by an immortal twice in one night. Sans had lost the last round. He couldn’t afford to lose this one.

 

“I think now would be a really good time to fly the coop, bro.” _Please, please just go_ , Sans pleaded silently. There was a good chance Papyrus could get clear. He was a strong flier; a vertical takeoff wouldn’t pose much of a challenge. And once he was airborne, Sans could vanish without worry.

 

Papyrus shook his head. “If we don’t scare them off, then…” He fumbled. “Then they won’t be scared of us!”

 

That was a fair point, actually. Retreating now would signal loud and clear that the balance of power in the city had shifted in the Nephilim’s favor. They would have to watch their backs all the time. Still, Sans would rather deal with that problem when the time came than avoid the issue by dying here.

 

Meanwhile, the circle grew ever smaller as the Nephilim pushed and clawed at one another. The swarm smelled blood in the water, so to speak, but no single lesser demon wanted to be the first to attack, knowing what their fate would be. They had the advantage, but only in numbers.

 

Papyrus gasped.“There, look!” he cried, pointing into the crowd. “That one’s got your horn!”

 

True enough, one of the little bastards had his broken horn in its hand. It taunted them with it, giggling and holding the horn up to its forehead as if miming a unicorn.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Sans said, but Papyrus was already in motion, thoughtlessly approaching the thief.

 

“That belongs to Sans,” Papyrus called, voice strident. “Give it back right now!”

 

The thief skittered back out of reach, while the nearest of the Nephilim made a swipe at the hem of Papyrus’ robes. Sans gripped it with unholy power, throwing it against the nearest wall where it crunched against the brinks and slumped to the ground.

 

That turned out to be the tipping point. Howling, the Nephilim surged forward, seeking to overwhelm the pair before Sans could pick off any more. Sans flinched back, only to be knocked to the ground by Papyrus’ wing. He landed hard on his stomach, cursing as the impact reopened some of his healed injuries.

 

“Sorry!” Papyrus shouted.

 

Sans felt weight and tiny claws on his back. Shit, not again! Before he could move to guard his fragile wings, there was a sharp whoosh of air, and a wet thud as something solid connected with the lesser demon on his back. The weight was off him, and he heard the thump of a small body hitting the wall an instant later.

 

“Sorry, sorry!”

 

Was Papyrus apologizing to him, or the Nephilim?

 

With his free hand, Papyrus grabbed Sans and pulled him to his feet, tugging him close to keep him from the swarm’s grasping claws. He lashed out with the mace again, still muttering apologies as the sounds of cracking bones and high-pitched squealing all but drowned him out. He flapped his wings, flinging the demons clinging to them in all directions. More were ready to take their place.

 

“Get off the ground!” Sans pleaded, twisting around in Papyrus’ grip to send a handful of Nephilim flying with his power. He hadn’t recovered from the last fight, and using his powers was far more taxing than usual. He wouldn’t be able to keep going for long.

 

“I don’t have room to take off!” Papyrus took another swing, but he was out of practice and slow, and the Nephilim he was aiming for jumped clear. While he was occupied, more took the opportunity to leap onto his back. He let go of Sans and stumbled backward, slamming himself backward to crush the Nephilim between his body and the wall. They dropped, and Papyrus turned to stand back to back with Sans to prevent the same thing from happening again.

 

Sans didn’t know how long he’d be able to keep the bastards at bay, but they’d weeded out half a dozen of them already. If they could hold out long enough, maybe the swarm would give up and leave.

 

“Keep after them, then,” Sans said, slashing one across the face with his claws. He needed to save his power for when it really counted, or he’d tire out too quickly. He could already feel the exhaustion building up, legs shaking with the effort of keeping him upright and fighting.

 

He knew he wasn’t hiding his condition well, but the tackle aimed at his legs took him by surprise just the same. His knees buckled, and once again he was on the ground. He rolled onto his back, clawing and kicking at the demons that had brought him down.

 

Pain lanced through his wing as Papyrus tripped over it, but he was more concerned with the angel. _Don’t fall, don’t fall…_

 

Papyrus managed to keep his footing, but Sans could see him frantically swiping at the Nephilim climbing his legs and wings. His mace was useless against the demons already on him, and soon he was staggering under their combined weight.

 

This was a disaster. He’d called it, but Sans couldn’t take much satisfaction in that fact. If he could just get back up… Sans snarled in frustration, clawing and biting at anything in reach. Finally, he got enough of an opening to rise to a crouch.

 

“Okay, bro, I’m-”

 

White filled his vision, and he dove flat against the ground just in time to avoid a bolt of holy power taking his head off.

 

“What the fuck!” Sans yelled, furious and terrified.

 

Never mind the Nephilim, apparently what they really needed to worry about was offing each other by mistake.

 

Papyrus yelped and clapped his hands over his mouth. “Sorry!”

 

“Would you please get your shit together?!” Sure, Sans was fighting with all the finesse of a pissed-off rat in a shoe box, but Papyrus was the one who’d gone looking for the Nephilim. The least he could do was do a marginally competent job of _not killing Sans himself._

 

Shaking like a leaf, Sans pushed himself to his feet. A few greasy smears steamed on the concrete around him— Nephilim who’d failed to dodge the blast. At least his near smiting had given him some breathing room.

 

The remaining Nephilim screeched in fury. They didn’t close in right away, though, and Sans could see why. Papyrus illuminated the alley, halo searingly bright. Light glimmered off his feathers and the unstained patches of his robes, which were now half-shredded by dozens of small, sharp claws. It was honestly an intimidating sight.

 

Of course, it would have been more intimidating if Papyrus hadn’t looked so apologetic about it.

 

“As you can see,” he said, voice raised though wavering, “I’m quite formidable, and it won’t go well for you if you persist in harassing us!”

 

Sans fell to his knees, too tired to stand any longer. Papyrus was at his side in an instant, standing guard over him, mace held at the ready.

 

The Nephilim had lost interest in Sans, however. With Papyrus distracted, they leapt on him from behind. Papyrus staggered with a dismayed cry. His mace fell to the ground with a heavy clang— narrowly missing Sans— as he raised his arms to protect his head from the small hands clawing at his eye sockets and prying at his jaw. Blinded and panicking, Papyrus fought to shake off his attackers. His wings beat frantically, but the Nephilim had been smart enough to stay out of their range this time.

 

Papyrus shrieked, and Sans spied the base of his broken horn jutting from the angel’s ribcage, the fabric of his robes torn and twisted around it. Weakened by the blow and weighed down by the bodies hanging off him, Papyrus fell to the pavement.

 

Sans could feel the remaining swarm surge in on them. Diving for the angel’s mace, he swung it in a broad arc, catching two demons before they could get to Papyrus. “Get away from him!”

 

Smoke rose from his palms. The pain was only an added layer on what he was already enduring. He ignored it, swinging wildly at any demon that came near enough. He only dropped the mace to tear at the demons swarming Papyrus, sinking his talons in deep and wrenching them off his friend with more viciousness than was strictly necessary.

 

Papyrus struggled to sit up as he was freed. He felt along the ground for his mace, his shaking hand closing around the handle.

 

The swarm advanced once more, and it was one time too many. With the last of his strength, Sans let his power gather.

 

The Nephilim leapt for them. Sans let his power loose.

 

“Fuck. _Off._ ”

 

Left undirected, his unholy power burst outward— the force of an explosion without all the mess. Papyrus was close enough to avoid being caught in it, but most of the Nephilim weren’t so fortunate. Those that weren’t crushed in midair were broken against the walls. There was a chorus of screams, followed by a light rain of bodies as lesser demons landed in shattered heaps on the concrete.

 

That, finally, was enough. The remainder of the swarm fled, disappearing down the alley and off over the rooftops.

 

Sans flopped onto his back, heedless of the pain it caused his wings. The sliver of sky he could see between the buildings was growing lighter with the coming dawn. It swam in his vision. He fought the slide into unconsciousness on the chance the Nephilim returned, though he would have liked nothing better than to check out for a while.

 

Two dozen Nephilim. They could have been killed. Papyrus could have died. Somehow, that was more upsetting to Sans than the thought of dying himself. Now that everything was over and he was coming down from the rush of the fight, Sans’ anger returned ten-fold. How could Papyrus have done something so reckless? He wasn’t stupid. At least, Sans had come to think that he was actually quite intelligent, if naive.

 

“We did it,” Papyrus said, awestruck.

 

“Yeah, we did.” Sans pressed his palms down against the cool concrete, grateful for anything to alleviate the burning in his hands. Everything else still hurt, though. “I am so, so mad at you right now.”

 

For the second time today he was lying on the ground, beaten to within an inch of his life. And for what? To impress some damned seraph? Papyrus had risked not only his own life but Sans’ as well for the sake of his ambition. Had he been able to stand or even crawl, Sans would have slugged Papyrus a good one right in the face.

 

“That was very impressive, Sans.”

 

“I’m serious, bro,” Sans said, voice raspy. “Don’t talk to me for a few minutes.”

 

The angel fell silent. Sans was annoyed to find that he felt a little bad about that. But no, that had been a really stupid thing to do, and he was right to be angry. Right? Yes. Absolutely.

 

Bad Papyrus, no cookies.

 

He heard Papyrus cry out, and swallowed down a lump of fresh panic as he forced himself up on his elbows— but the angel had only wrenched the horn out of his ribcage. Cracks and unholy scorch marks stippled the bones that showed through the tear in his robes.

 

“It’s fine.” Papyrus smiled wanly. “Nothing serious. Oh,” he said, the smile wilting. “When will it have been a few minutes? I wasn’t counting.”

 

Sans sighed, watching Papyrus crawl over to kneel at his side. “I shouldn’t have to explain how dumb this all was.”

 

Looking sheepish, Papyrus lined the recovered horn up with the stump. A telltale itch spread from the base of the horn as it was healed. When it was reattached, Papyrus sighed, tired but contented.

 

“You know,” Sans said, “the smart thing to do would have been to help me with my actual wounds, and save the whole symbolic thing for later.”

 

“Oh.” If he’d looked sheepish before, now Papyrus strongly resembled an entire flock. “Yes, I suppose that would have been more practical.”

 

Sans flinched as Papyrus took hold of one of his hands. The itch of healing power spread across his palm. It wouldn’t surprise him if Papyrus spent the rest of the day conked out, given his own injuries and how much he was overexerting himself. Good. He’d be easier to keep watch over if he was asleep.

 

After a minute or two, Papyrus said, “That didn’t go quite as well as I’d planned.”

 

“No shit.”

 

Papyrus went quiet again, and Sans realized that was all the apology he was going to get. Seriously? Typical angel, to double down on a bad decision and act like it was the will of the Almighty when everything inevitably went sideways.

 

Well, Papyrus could just forget about his stupid dinosaur oatmeal, in that case.

 

The sky shifted from violet to a soft pink as the sun came up. Papyrus diligently healed as much of Sans’ injuries as he was able to. Sans’ body was one big itch. On the bright side, it gave him a distraction from the pain. He watched the sky lighten while trying not to scratch.

 

“I’d still call it a victory, though,” Papyrus said, unable or unwilling to recognize when he was being given the cold shoulder. “We thinned the herd quite a bit. I doubt if the remainder will be very eager to give us trouble for some time.”

 

Sans grunted.

 

Papyrus paused in his work. “That was all…a great deal more violent than I had anticipated.”

 

“Oh, you don’t say?” Sans snapped, pushing himself up to a sitting position. A cutting remark died in his throat.

 

Papyrus sat hunched in on himself, his free arm wrapped around his injured ribs in an anxious hug. His robes and plumage were in tatters, and the Nephilim had left long gouges on his face and arms— possibly fighting to hang on while Sans was wrestling them off. He could have come off a lot worse, but he hadn’t exactly come out unscathed.

 

“Yeah, well,” Sans said. “At least you did something this time.” Not that the angel couldn’t have done more, but considering he seemed to have more strength than skill, maybe that was for the best. He’d already come within a hair’s breadth of frying Sans once.

 

Papyrus sniffled. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

 

He had no right to sulk after the stunt he’d pulled, but damned if Sans wasn’t starting to feel guilty anyway. Cursing under his breath, he shuffled closer, wrapping an arm around his friend’s shoulders.

 

“Jeez, bro, what am I gonna do with you, huh?” Sans shook his head at Papyrus’ wounded look. “Don’t start with me. You know you fucked up. Look,” he said, “once we’re up to it, we’ll head back to my place and take it easy, okay?” Sans sighed. It was over. They’d more or less pulled through. Yes, the fight could have ended badly, but it hadn’t. There was no point in staying mad.

 

Papyrus nodded. He scooped his wing around Sans, feathers shivering with post-fight jitters.

 

Sans reached out to smooth the frayed pinions down. “We can still catch most of the soaps, yeah?” He gave Papyrus a gentle squeeze, mindful of the injuries that would have to heal slowly on their own. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”


	6. A lizalfos, a zora, and a stalfos walk into a bar... (Alphyne, UT/Breath of the Wild x-over)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mnstrcndy on tumblr made some extremely cute art of Undyne and Papyrus on horseback, and my hand slipped.  
> Content: Alphyne, mild implied violence and fantasy racism?

After a long day on the road, the wooded copse and the small spring it surrounded was the most welcome sight Undyne could hope for. Once her horse had been tended to and hobbled, she stripped off the armor and clothing that kept her safe from the dangers of monsters, brigands, and sunburn. The spring’s waters were cool and clean, and though there wasn’t space to properly swim it was invigorating just to be in her element.

 

Her muscles were just beginning to unknot from hours of riding when she heard a shout in the distance. Treading water, Undyne listened intently. Galloping hoofbeats approached the copse, sending vibrations through the water. Her own mount tossed his head and jigged in place, scenting danger. Undyne leapt from the water and hastily pulled her clothes back on. They clung to her wet scales and she silently cursed that her battered armor would have spots of rust by the time she could next clean it.

 

No sooner had she freed her horse from his hobbles than the first horse burst into view. At least, it resembled a horse at first. It bounded through the underbrush, moving lightly over the ground despite carrying two riders. A fiendish light glowed in its empty eye sockets, and its mouth was set in a perpetual grin.

 

Undyne had heard tales of the stalhorse, but had dismissed them for just that— tales. She was so enthralled by the creature she didn’t get a good look at the riders. Who could tame a thing like that?

 

There was no time to ponder the question, as the rest of the group was upon the campsite a moment later. Diving aside to avoid being trampled, Undyne caught the reins of her horse and swung herself onto his back. There was no time to saddle him again; she clung tight with her legs against his barrel and urged him after the posse. He needed little coaxing, excited by the energy and noise of other horses. Catching up was the work of a moment.

 

Above the thunder of hooves Undyne heard the men shouting to one another. Some carried torches, others held farm implements and axes. Not soldiers, then, but simply angry farmers and villagers. They broke through the other side of the copse and onto the open prairie. By the light of the moon, she could see the stalhorse far ahead, itself moon-pale as it raced across the countryside. The villagers called triumphantly to each other, spurring their mounts on and steadily gaining on their quarry.

 

The nearest man noticed her. “Good sir!” he called, taking her for a mercenary, as her armor and helm covered her completely. “Help us defeat these scoundrels who thought our village was undefended!”

 

Taken with the thrill of the chase, Undyne nodded and urged her horse on, soon pulling out ahead of the group. She wanted a better look at the marvelous, monstrous creature they were hunting, and she was curious about its riders. They must be fairly powerful monsters, if they were cocksure enough to approach a Hylian village alone. They’d be better sport than the weak and cowardly bokoblins that infested the wilds here.

 

Neither rider wore armor or carried a weapon, dressed simply in worn traveling clothes. The stalhorse was beginning to flag as Undyne drew level with it. Even an undead steed’s endurance wasn’t infinite, it seemed. Its principle rider was (unsurprisingly, perhaps) a stalfos, who leaned low in the saddle to cry half-heard encouragements to his beast, begging it to keep running, to hold out a bit longer. The shock Undyne felt on hearing a stalfos speak the common tongue was nothing to the sight of the second rider. A small, plump lizalfos woman met her gaze, gentle eyes terror-struck behind thick glasses. No one had told Undyne that lizalfos could be…cute?

 

And then came the literal shock of a bolt of electricity zinging through her armor to make Undyne’s teeth buzz and her blood leap in her veins. It seemed the lizalfos knew a bit of elemental magic, and Undyne’s people, with their conductive skin, were especially vulnerable to electricty’s bite. She didn’t yell, but only because her jaw had locked. Her horse shrieked and shied at the small crack of thunder that accompanied the attack, nearly throwing her to the ground.

 

“L-leave us alone!”

 

While her muscles spasmed and she fought to keep her seat, Undyne watched the stalhorse gain ground. Or rather, she had lost ground. The group caught up to her once more. She listened to the calls and jeers of the men, and saw the way the lizalfos hunched frightened on the back of the stalhorse’s saddle, clinging to her companion, and the chase shifted in Undyne’s mind from a righteous slaying of the Calamity’s minions to a gang of thugs menacing a pair of travelers.

 

Even as the pain of mild electrocution faded, Undyne made up her mind. Knights were supposed to defend the defenseless. This situation felt turned on its ear, but she couldn’t uphold her code for some and not all, no matter who they were or what they looked like.

 

Spurring her horse on, she got out ahead of the posse once more. Brandishing her spear in one hand and readying a spell with the other, she wheeled on the men with a battle cry. One zora knight against a dozen hylians— it was hardly a fair fight.

 

She would go easy on them.

 

 

 

 

Watching the posse retreat, Undyne heard slow hoofbeats approach from behind her. Her grip tightened on her spear, but it was only the stalhorse and its riders.

 

“You should be long gone by now,” Undyne said, her voice resonating in her helm.

 

The stalfos smiled, or at least Undyne thought he might be smiling. “The Great Papyrus never abandons an ally!” He patted the stalhorse’s neck. “My equally great steed is also temporarily lacking in speediness, but that fact is entirely unrelated!”

 

“Th-thank you s-saving us,” the lizalfos said, looking everywhere but at Undyne. A blush dusted her yellow scales. “I apologize for…sh-shocking you. We thought you were w-with them.”

 

“No need for that. You defended yourself well.” Undyne tried to sound commanding and cool, but her voice cracked a bit, and she was thankful for the visor hiding her face. Talking to pretty girls had never been her strong suit.

 

Her horse huffed in irritation, shifting from foot to foot. A true war horse, he didn’t seem fazed by the monsters standing next to him at all, but merely expressed his annoyance at Undyne’s continued presence on his back now that the excitement was over. She glanced at the odd pair, taking in their weary postures (though the stalfos was making an effort to sit as straight-backed as he could). Their stalhorse was exhausted, head slung low and tail drooping. It cropped fitfully at the grass with its skeletal jaw.

 

Undyne reached another decision, this one easier than the last. “My camp is back in that stand of trees,” she said, pointing. “You’re welcome to rest there. Your mount looks like it’s about to drop.”

 

“Lucky is a very strong and good horse!” the stalfos said, taking offense on the beast’s behalf. “…Though she has worked very hard tonight.”

 

Undyne clicked her tongue, and her horse set off for the camp at a trot. The stalhorse kept pace, bones clattering as it jounced along.

 

“As I mentioned already, I am the Great Papyrus,” the stalfos said, gesturing grandly. “And my friend is the brilliant Dr. Alphys, and this is the illustrious Lucky!” He patted the stalhorse fondly. “Who might you be, brave and heroic stranger?”

 

Wondering how a lizalfos had earned the title of doctor but pleased to know the woman’s name, Undyne cleared her throat. “Undyne, captain of the Zora Royal Guard,” she said, matching the Great Papyrus’ grandeur. “I’m on a leave of absence,” she added. She removed her helm, letting her fins cool off in the night breeze. The lizalfos blushed slightly and glanced away, which Undyne took as an encouraging sign.

 

“Wowie, a real zora!” Papyrus lit up in boyish delight. “I’ve never met a zora before.”

 

Undyne had never met a stalfos or lizalfos before. At least, none that hadn’t met a swift end on her spear. She judged that it would be best not to mention it.

 

Dr. Alphys chuckled, little more that a puff of breath. “You’ve n-never been outside the s-settlement before.”

 

Papyrus coughed. “Well! Of course, my sentry duties have kept me occupied.” He recovered quickly. “I’m something of a guard captain, myself. I only hope everyone is getting along alright without me there to watch over them.”

 

Dr. Alphys smiled, but it was a fond one, and she didn’t roll her eyes. The smile was contagious, and Undyne found her own lips pulled upward.

 

 

 

The stalhorse needed no currying or hobbles, content to rest in the shelter of the trees near Undyne’s horse. Undyne couldn’t help thinking that a mount like that must be extremely convenient, until Papyrus explained that they could only travel by night.

 

“She has to stay in the shade or underground during the day, just like a stalfos!” Papyrus gave Lucky a scratch on the forehead, bone rasping on bone. He sighed. “She’s very quick, but I wonder if we’ll be able to make our destination by sunrise. Those unfriendly gentlemen made us lose a lot of time.”

 

Dr. Alphys spoke up from the roots and vegetables she was washing in the spring. “B-blood moon isn’t for another w-week. If we t-try to rush…”

 

“Say no more, Dr. Alphys,” Papyrus said, as he and Undyne returned to the campfire. “I wouldn’t risk leaving you unguarded all day in the middle of an open field!”

 

“Why are you two out here, anyway? It’s dangerous on the road,” Undyne said. “There’s thieves and monsters.” She heard herself and felt slightly stupid. Warning monsters about monsters?

 

With Papyrus’ help, Alphys carried the vegetables to the fire, where Papyrus took out a small knife and sliced them into the cooking pot. Undyne wished the spring had some minnows or snails to add to the dish, but she was gratified to have a hot meal regardless. Papyrus had insisted on it, to repay her for her assistance.

 

While he cooked, Alphys checked over her rucksack, making sure nothing had broken during the chase. “We n-need to go to the f-fairy fountain to gather s-silent princess flowers,” she explained, pausing to clean her glasses on her shirt. It afforded Undyne a better look at her eyes. “There’s b-been an outbreak of fever at home, and when I tried to help I…m-made it w-worse. If I have the f-flowers I can make a medicine to correct my m-mistake.”

 

That took Undyne off-guard. Everything about these two was unexpected. “You take care of your sick?”

 

Papyrus looked puzzled at the question, while Alphys straightened, tail twitching in offense. “Of c-course we do! D-don’t you?”

 

“Sorry,” Undyne said hurriedly, putting a hand up in surrender. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just weird to think of you like…” She was quick enough to catch herself before she could finish the sentence. Like people.

 

“Anyway, the important thing is you’re taking responsibility and facing the problem head on.” Undyne regarded Alphys with approval. “And you’re going out into the wilds alone to do it! That’s courageous of you.” Courageous, but probably unwise. A posse of angry villagers was far from the worst thing Alphys would encounter out here. Hyrule was a dangerous place for the unwary.

 

“Well,” Alphys said, lowering her gaze demurely, “I have P-Papyrus to keep and eye on m-me.”

 

“I don’t have any eyes!” Papyrus said brightly. “But I’m happy to guard Dr. Alphys with my life!” He ladled the softened vegetable and root chunks into a bowl and presented it to Undyne. “Here you go! It looks splendid!”

 

Undyne accepted the bowl and picked at the unseasoned mush graciously, though she was troubled. She had no doubt that his life was exactly what Papyrus would lose if the pair ran into trouble again, and Alphys wouldn’t fare any better. It was strange to think about followers of Calamity Ganon this way, but they both seemed so innocent and vulnerable. They clearly weren’t out to do anyone harm, but they wouldn’t be able to avoid being attacked, looking the way they did. Everyone knew stalfos were mindless and that lizalfos were crafty and vicious. Until a few hours ago, Undyne would have agreed.

 

If there were good and bad zora, and good and bad hylians, then maybe…

 

Undyne came to her third decision of the night, the easiest yet. “I’ll escort you to your flowers, and make sure you get home safely.”

 

Alphys looked like she was about to protest, but Papyrus sprang to his feet. Leaping over the cooking pot, he caught Undyne’s hand in both of his own with such enthusiasm she nearly dropped her bowl.

 

“That’s fantastic! Of course we accept your noble offer! You can teach me all sorts of knightly things, and I’ll take care of your horse and polish your armor and cook your meals and-”

 

Coughing, Alphys shook her head. “There’s n-no way we can afford to…to hire her.”

 

“I’m not interested in your money,” Undyne said, bristling a little at the mere suggestion. “I left home because I felt I wasn’t doing enough to help people who need it, not to make myself rich.”

 

Spending more time with Alphys would be payment enough, along with the opportunity to study a stalhorse up close and have a willing (if inexperienced) sparring partner and squire for however long the journey ended up taking. Undyne was enjoying her time wandering Hyrule, but she had to admit it was lonely sometimes. She could live up to her sworn oath to protect the weak and have some company for a change.

 

Papyrus released her hand, still vibrating with excitement. “So classy! Do you hear that, Alphys? She’ll do it for free!”

 

“That’s v-very generous of you.” It may have been Undyne’s imagination, but a hidden tension seemed to ease out of Alphys’ shoulders. “We’re h-happy to have you along, th-then. We’ll t-try not to b-be too much…too much trouble.”

 

Undyne smiled at her across the fire. “It’s no trouble. Should be interesting.”

 

“Excellent!” Papyrus sat down on the ground beside her, pulling the nearest piece of armor into his lap to clean it. Maybe it wouldn’t rust, after all. “I’m going to learn so much, I can tell!”

 

Undyne was inclined to agree.


	7. A challenger approaches!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just how are the Duke boys gonna get outta this one? (Daisy Dukes not included.)  
> Content: fantasy violence and some dang ol' cussin'.

“Well, _this_ is certainly interesting.”

The pair froze. Someone could see them.

A tall figure stepped out from the shadows, spiked heels clicking on the concrete. By the being’s black metallic carapace and horns, he was clearly a demon. A strong one, too, by the looks of it. With jagged, beetle-shiny wings slung low in a casual stance and gleaming tail twitching, he stepped closer.

Snarling, Sans struggled to his feet. “Back off, buddy,” he growled. His tail waved uncertainly through the air as he fought to balance himself on his trembling legs.

Papyrus stood as well, tripping over his shredded robes. He brandished his mace, looking more desperate than menacing.

The demon laughed. One long, sinuous arm curved up so that he could cover his mouth demurely with his hand. “Oh, let’s not have any of that unpleasantness, yes? We’re all civilized here.” He met Sans’ glare with his one visible eye, which glowed magenta in the dimness of the alley. “You’re a surprisingly difficult demon to find, Sans. If you hadn’t been playing with the local fauna and causing such a stir, who knows how much longer it would have taken me.”

Oh, fuck. Oh, no.

“Let me guess,” the demon went on. “You haven’t been getting our messages? That’s the usual excuse.” He tapped his black lips with one finger, unimpressed.

“Go away!” Papyrus squared up, though Sans could see him shaking. “I’m warning you!”

The demon flicked a dismissive gesture at him. “Yes, yes, darling. I’m sure.” He returned his attention to Sans. His eye gleamed brighter. “An angel, how positively scandalous. This is a great deal more scintillating than an audit, wouldn’t you say?”

Papyrus darted a glance back at Sans. “Who is this? What does he want?”

“He’s an auditor,” Sans growled, cursing his own carelessness. His phone was filled with unopened voice mails and messages from Downstairs— he should have known they’d have sent someone to hunt him down in person by now. “You need to get out of here right now. He’s here for me— he might let you go.”

Shaking his head, Papyrus dug in his heels and choked up his grip on the mace. “Ridiculous! I’m not leaving you alone.”

“You can’t help,” Sans hissed. “Just go, and I’ll handle it.”

Papyrus wouldn’t budge. It might not have mattered. While the demon addressed Sans, it was Papyrus he was watching. An injured angel was to a demon as a bloody steak was to a dog. With the assumption that the dog also had some kind of deep-seated hatred of the steak, or was otherwise envious of the steak’s position in Creation, floating around on its steaky wings without a care while the dog languished among the tortured screams of the damned.

It was an imperfect metaphor. Sans was not at his best.

“You’ve been a bit too slothful, haven’t you, darling?” The demon tutted, amused. “Or at least that was our assumption. But we all know what happens when one assumes, don’t we?” The magenta eye swept over Papyrus, appraising.

Sans sized up the demon. It was two against one, but that was far from a guarantee of victory if things got violent. The auditor looked like a nasty piece of work, and neither he nor Papyrus were up to another fight.

Could this day get any worse? The sun was barely up, for cripes sake…

Sans had no intention of just rolling over and surrendering, not after everything they’d been through tonight. Still, if he’d thought their situation was dire while they’d been fighting off the Nephilim pack, they were really in deep shit now. “So, what happens here?” he asked, aware of how ridiculous he looked, battered and shaking and with Nephilim gore still stuck to his claws.

The demon shrugged. “I’m trying to decide that myself, to be truthful. This is quite an unexpected twist.” His tail swished side to side in rubbery-smooth movements. “It’s been ages since I last saw an angel, how thrilling!”

Sans snarled. “Don’t get any ideas.” He was still pissed at the angel, no doubt, but he wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever it took to keep him safe. Even if all he could do was buy Papyrus time to get airborne.

None of this would have happened if he’d just left the Nephilim alone. As angry as he was with Papyrus, ultimately the blame for this disaster rested squarely on his shoulders. He knew better than to court trouble. The first thing demons learned was that the nail that sticks out gets hammered down, and he’d flouted Downstairs for years now, missing quotas and ignoring summons as it pleased him.

He hadn’t even been smart enough to keep his head down and go into hiding. On the contrary, his dust-ups with the Nephilim may as well have been a flare-gun shot into the sky that spelled out ‘Here I am, come drag my ass back to Hell.’ And here was someone capable of doing exactly that.

When had he gotten so cocky? The damn angel was a bad influence.

The demon took a step forward, and Papyrus responded with a warning swipe with the mace. Lightly, the demon hopped back out of reach.

“A bit of advice, darling,” he said, tail twitching like an irritated garden hose, “It helps if you keep your eyes open.”

Papyrus made a noise that was equal parts affronted and embarrassed.

“You can both cease that pointless posturing, as I said.” The demon casually examined his claws, longer and sharper than Sans’ own. “If I intended to harm you, I could accomplish it just as easily from here.”

A small arc of electricity slithered up the length of his claws and crackled in the humid air.

“Then what are you still hanging around for?” Sans said, not ready to relax. “It’s pretty obvious you’re not welcome here, so why don’t you hit the road?”

The demon rolled his eye. “Because I have an audit to perform, darling. Do try to keep up.” He tossed his glossy black hair, revealing for an instant the hidden half of his face, ravaged and gruesome in stark contrast to the half that was pristine. “I expect it will take quite some time, given how long you’ve managed to put it off, Sans. Sloth isn’t supposed to be directed at your colleagues, you know.”

Papyrus glared suspiciously. “What’s an audit?”

“Oh, to be so blissfully ignorant again,” the demon said, smirking. “Your…” -he flicked a glance at Sans- “…companion has very little to show for his time on the mortal plane as of late, and I am meant to ascertain the cause.” He chortled delicately. “Though I think it’s something of a foregone conclusion, don’t you? How long has this odd little association been going on, I wonder?”

Sans saw red. “If you even think about squealing on me…” The statement went unfinished, as Sans couldn’t come up with a credible threat off the top of his head and hoped the auditor would fill in the blanks with something suitably infernal. Downstairs didn’t know there was an angel in this area, and he wanted to keep it that way.

The demon canted his head to one side, considering Sans’ attempt to look big and dangerous. “Ineffectual,” he said, “yet somehow touching. I’m intrigued.”

Ignoring Sans’ protests, the demon approached once more. Sans tried to push him away with his power, but only made himself dizzy in the attempt. Beyond his teeth and claws, he was essentially useless until he had a chance to rest. Worse still, now the demon knew it.

With scarcely more than a raised eyebrow directed at Sans, the demon turned his attention to Papyrus. “Honestly, darling, won’t you put that thing away?” He made a disdainful gesture at the mace.

Papyrus was doing his best to look stern, but Sans could see the tremor in his arms, the effort it was taking to keep his weapon steady. Even if he weren’t injured and exhausted, he would have been outclassed. What little fortitude he had for conflict had been spent already. If he could bring himself to swing the mace again, he’d do little good with it.

Sans laid a hand on his shaking arm. “You can put it down, bro. We’re done.” This wasn’t a predicament they could fight their way out of. Trying would end badly.

The mace dissolved into holy light as Papyrus lowered his arms. He sighed, either relieved that another fight wasn’t imminent or simply tired. In a movement that was subtle for the angel, he shifted a wing to partially shield Sans from the auditor.

Tracking the movement with his functional eye, the demon smiled. Under other circumstances, it might have been a charming smile. Right now, it carried a more devious connotation. “How very sweet.” With an arm that lacked any defined joints, he reached out to pluck at a shred of Papyrus’ ruined robes. “Did this happen while you were aiding your undersized friend, darling?”

Sans bit down on the urge to correct the demon. That wasn’t how it happened, dammit, but now wasn’t the time to defend his pride. Layered over the undercurrent of terror, a sharp irritation was building. He snorted derisively, drawing the demon’s attention.

“You gonna audit me, or are you gonna hold us up in this alley until we drop?” Too late, he noticed the ‘us’ in his sentence. Great.

The demon lit up at the pronoun. “I’m thinking, darling, and you’re hardly in a position to rush me.”

“Well, you can think as long as you want,” Papyrus snapped, shaking himself out of his fatigue and curving his wing closer around Sans. “But Sans needs to rest and it’s rude of you to keep us standing here waiting. You can do the audit thing later as long as you promise you won’t hurt him, or anything of that nature.”

Oh, getting bossed around by an angel was _not_ going to go over well. Sans winced, watching the demon’s face for any sign of his mood souring.

To his surprise, the demon laughed once more, hand covering a fanged mouth. “Darling, you are simply too much!” The demon gave Papyrus a playful slap on the arm.

What the fuck?

Papyrus looked just as baffled as Sans felt, glancing down at the spot the demon had touched him as though he expected to see something distasteful growing there. Like mushrooms, maybe, or mildew.

“Have you been carrying on like this,” the demon said, gesturing vaguely at both of them, “since his Fall, or have you only gotten back in touch recently? I must know.”

A few loose feathers wafted to the ground as wings fluffed up in anger. “Excuse me, did you not hear me before? I told you to leave us alone and come back later!” Papyrus was very rarely tired, but over the years Sans had found it best to tread lightly when he was. Now that much of his fear had abated, his fatigue was showing, along with his temper.

“Bro, maybe don’t bark orders at the auditor, huh?” Sans hissed, but he seemed to have become incidental to the conversation happening over his head.

“After all the time I’ve spent tracking him down,” the demon said, still smiling amiably, “I’m sure you’ll understand my reluctance to start the hunt over again. Besides,” he said, “you haven’t done me the courtesy of answering my questions, and I’m so dying to know every detail, darling.”

Papyrus frowned. “You’re being extremely inconsiderate, and I’m not an angel of Patience. Will you or will you not leave us alone to rest?”

The demon held a thoughtful finger to his lips. “Hmm. I’m sorry to add to your discomfort, darling, but no.”

“I see. Thank you for your honesty,” Papyrus said. “Have a good day.”

Without further warning, he crouched to wrap his arms tightly around Sans and kicked off.

The gloom of the alley fell away, the world narrowing into rushing wind and sunlight. If Sans had needed to breathe, the sudden ascent would have taken his breath away. He wasn’t a good flier, and on the occasions he did get airborne for a few minutes his progress was laborious and slow. Watching Papyrus from the ground didn’t capture just how vast the difference in their abilities was. It would have been exhilarating if they hadn’t just ditched a dangerous agent of Hell. And if Papyrus weren’t squeezing his ribs quite so hard. Ow…

They reached what must have been the angel’s preferred cruising altitude— much higher than Sans ever went. The rhythm of Papyrus’ wing-beats faltered momentarily, and Sans heard a choked-down curse.

“You sure you’re up to this, bro?” he called over the wind. With Papyrus’ injuries, flying was sure to be painful. Lugging a demon around couldn’t be helping, either.

Papyrus nodded, jaw clenched. “My side aches a bit, is all.”

Of course. Every movement would aggravate the demonic burn from Sans’ broken horn. Not for the first time, Sans wished he was able to heal. Miracles, unfortunately, weren’t in a demon’s repertoire.

“Give me a minute,” he said, hanging on as Papyrus rode out a sudden gust. “I can get us back to the apartment.” It had been a long time since he’d taken a passenger with him, and he wasn’t at his best by a long shot. Still, he’d have to try. Papyrus wouldn’t be able to stay in the air too long— not with this much dead weight in his arms.

A small black shape rose from the city below, and suddenly a minute was too long to wait.

“Uh, bro?” He tugged on Papyrus’ sleeve, pointing at the shape, which was growing steadily larger. “I think we have company.”

Papyrus glanced back, frowning at the distant-but-gaining auditor. “Oh, damn!” he blasphemed. “I’m so used to you, I completely forgot that demons can fly. This isn’t ideal.”

“Nope,” Sans agreed, tail lashing like the tail of a kite in a high wind. “Can you stay ahead of him for a while, or are we boned?” He hoped for the former, but suspected the latter. The demon was fresh, uninjured, and unencumbered. It wasn’t a fair contest.

Papyrus seemed to arrive at a different conclusion, wings churning the air as he climbed higher. “I’ll have you know that among my many skills,” he said, smiling a bit shakily, “I’m also an excellent aviator! We’ll simply lose him in the clouds, like so.”

The air grew colder and the muffled noise of the city faded away. Seconds later, they breached the belly of the lowest cloud bank, and were cocooned in a damp gray fog.

“Now you can do that…thing you do,” Papyrus said, tilting his wings slightly by way of a shrug, “at your leisure!”

Sans squeezed his arm in gratitude. “It’ll just be another minute or so,” he said, hoping Papyrus would remember he’d said much the same thing several minutes ago. “You’re doing great.”

“I know,” Papyrus said, with a gallant smile.

Sans didn’t miss the effort it took to keep them aloft, though. Papyrus had a hard time gliding with the extra weight, and his movements were increasingly labored as his wings pulled them through the clouds. Eddies of mist spun off behind them with each hard-won stroke.

There was a shadow on their left. It was too large to be a bird, and too small to be an aircraft.

“Oh, fuck me sideways,” Sans snapped. “Seriously?”

Luckily, Papyrus had the presence of mind to take the outburst as a warning, and banked sharply to avoid a collision with the auditor. It was a near miss, the demon’s claws grazing the hood of Sans’ jacket. He made another grab, and Papyrus whirled to plant a sandaled foot in his face. Using the demon as a springboard, Papyrus kicked off, gaining altitude while the auditor cursed and floundered in the cloud bank.

Sans squinted as they broke through above the clouds. The sunrise was strikingly beautiful up here, framed by fluffy towers of clouds painted in warm tones by the light. The only thing marring the scene was the auditor bursting from the clouds after them, an oil slick in the sky.

“That was entirely uncalled for, darling,” the demon said, still massaging his nose. The wind blew his hair back, baring the ruined half of his face. “Let’s dispense with all this melodrama, shall we? I could do this all day, and frankly,” he said, gesturing at Papyrus’ general dishevelment, “you won’t last another five minutes.”

“I’ll have you know I’m in peak physical condition,” Papyrus spat. He put more distance between them, but didn’t bolt again. Sans could feel his arms trembling and the shudder that wracked him with each beat of his wings. The angel was putting his all into staying aloft.

The demon turned his attention to Sans, lip curling. “Sans, this is shameful! Are you going to let him injure himself further on account of your own negligence?” He tutted. “That’s hardly chivalrous.”

There were a lot of pithy one-liners Sans could have come up with in retort to that, but he was a worn-out, terrified ball of pain at the moment, so all that came to mind was, “Get bent, asshole.”

The auditor rolled his good eye. “Oh, honestly!” Beetle-black wings flung him at the pair. “Stop being so _difficult!_ ”

Papyrus was too slow to dodge this time, and took the brunt of the demon’s charge with a pained grunt. The force of the impact jolted his arms, and Sans slipped from his hold.

Sans blinked up in confusion at the shrinking forms of Papyrus and the auditor. Only when he heard their startled exclamations did he realize he was falling. He stamped down his immediate reflex to will himself to safety. Not yet, not yet! He couldn’t leave Papyrus to fend for himself.

Flailing and twisting himself right side up, he forced his wings open against the force of the wind.

“Aah!”

Newly-mended tears reopened, rushing air ripping mercilessly at the membranes. Reflexively, he pulled the more damaged wing in close, sending him into a spin that turned into a nauseating tumble.

Plunging down through the clouds, Sans emerged to the sight of the city below alternating with the open sky as he rolled, helpless to stop himself. Moments later, two shapes punctured the cloud layer. Sans watched Papyrus race the auditor in disconnected glances as both they and the ground drew closer.

Papyrus’ wings slicked down tight against his back, letting him fall like a javelin. The auditor’s anatomy wouldn’t allow for the same position, and Papyrus was slowly gaining a lead.

_Can’t you fall any faster?_   There was only so far an angel like Papyrus could bend the laws of physics, of course. If he’d had any confidence at all that he had the energy for it, Sans would have met him halfway, but he didn’t dare waste what could be their only shot at escape. As he reached terminal velocity he spread his limbs, trying to slow himself somehow. It’d help if he could stop fucking spinning around so much, but whose fault was that? He should have known his useless wings wouldn’t hold.

Seconds stretched into a small eternity as Papyrus got close enough to make a grab for Sans’ hand. Their fingertips passed by inches apart. Sans tucked his legs in to avoid kicking Papyrus in the face as he kept rolling. He felt his tail strike the angel’s arms painfully hard, but he’d made another half-revolution before Papyrus could get hold of it.

The gray smear of the city resolved into buildings and streets, trees and grassy parks as the ground loomed nearer. Would Papyrus be able to pull out of his dive if Sans made a break for it? It wasn’t hard to conjure the image of the angel slamming into the pavement head-first like a falling star. Even if Papyrus had the strength to save himself from that, Sans would still be abandoning him to face the auditor alone.

And here he’d thought getting ripped apart by Nephilim was the stupidest possible way for him to die. Well, there was no choice but to trust that Papyrus would catch him before the ground did.

“Almost got you!” Papyrus called, voice torn away by the rush of wind as he made another unsuccessful grab.

Almost didn’t count, and they were quickly running out of sky. Sans had to put on the brakes.

This was going to suck. A lot.

Spreading his wings took every bit of muscle he had. The sudden drag felt as though it would snap the bones all over again. He was distantly aware he was screaming, but he’d probably been doing so for a few thousand feet already, and the wind whipped the sound away regardless. His left wing crumpled under the air pressure and constantly changing direction; he stubbornly braced it open with his arm.

The sounds of traffic and the oily stink of city pollution replaced the crispness of clean air. But Sans had slowed down just enough, and Papyrus caught up, locking his arms around Sans’ torso. Wings unfurled with a whoosh and a a comet’s tail of shed feathers. They were too close to the earth to pull out of the dive, but Papyrus bought them a few seconds more before impact, pulling their fall into a shallower angle with teeth-rattling force.

Clinging tightly to the angel in the hope that it would make bringing him along easier (also: an embarrassing amount of terror at plunging to his death for a being with wings), Sans threw all his mental weight at pushing himself and Papyrus out of the mortal plane. For a gut-churning moment, they kept falling. Sans could hear someone’s car stereo, they were so close to the surface now.

With a final, brief waft of sun-warmed asphalt, the material world parted, and they fell through.

An instant later, Sans crashed through the cheap particle-board coffee table in his borrowed living room. Papyrus hit him like a sack of hammers, knocking the wind from him with a shocked grunt. Thankfully, they’d lost most of their momentum to the void, so the rough landing merely hurt like a son of a bitch instead of turning them into bone meal.

Wings flailing, Papyrus rolled off him, scattering discarded food wrappers and bits of coffee table in all directions.

They lay in the rubble, chests heaving, staring up at the ceiling in the irrational fear that the auditor would pop out of the light fixture to resume the chase. Belatedly, Sans noticed the death-grip he still had on Papyrus’ robes, but he couldn’t coax his fist open just yet.

“Are you alright?” Papyrus said, voice croaky with exertion.

Sans shook his head slightly, sure his skull would pop right off his neck if he moved it too much. “Not even a little, bro. You?”

“Ha!” The laugh turned into a cough, which turned into a pained groan. Papyrus curled on his side, nursing his abused ribs. “It…it takes more than that to best the Great Papyrus!” he said, with a tough-guy grimace that wobbled around the edges. “Are we back on speaking terms, then?”

The question caught Sans off guard. He turned to watch Papyrus watching him from the shelter of one mussed wing.

“If I were you,” he said, carefully, “I wouldn’t have reminded me of that. But we have bigger shit to worry about now, so yeah, I guess I’m over it.”

Papyrus smiled. “Excellent!”

Sans didn’t see much to be happy about in their current situation.

“Sans, what’s an audit?”

“Nothing good,” Sans said. He blew out a long sigh. Even that much movement was painful— the air moving through his chest scraping hot ashes and sandpaper against the bones.

Papyrus glowered up at the lights. “Are you in trouble?”

“Yes.”

Trouble was an understatement. At least if the auditor had caught him alone (preferably when he hadn’t just gotten his ass kicked) he might have been able to spin some kind of story to explain away his poor performance over the last few years. But the bastard had seen Papyrus, and so Sans was pretty much screwed.

Would the demon keep searching for him, or would he go straight back Downstairs to report the scandal he’d uncovered? Sans knew which option he’d take, were their positions reversed. After all, it was obvious now why he’d been falling behind his quota, wasn’t it? What was the point in conducting the audit, other than pure bureaucratic sadism?

Sans frowned, and supposed he’d had a pretty good run.

…Okay, maybe it hadn’t been a good run, for the most part. An okay run, maybe. A passably decent run. Honestly, since his Fall his life had mostly been boring, with periods of deep depression sprinkled liberally throughout. The last chunk had been better than average, at least.

“If I say you should go back to Heaven until this blows over,” Sans said, keeping his gaze fixed on the ceiling, “I don’t suppose you’ll listen?”

“Correct,” Papyrus said, patting the clawed hand still twisted up in his robes.

Sans sighed. The sigh turned into pained cough as his ribs made it clear that sighing was not allowed.

Gingerly, Papyrus pushed himself up onto his elbows. A candy wrapper was stuck to one wing, and a dribble of long-flat orange soda stained a few feathers. It would have been funny minus the torn robes and network of injuries criss-crossing his body and face.

He rubbed at his side, blinking down at Sans. “What should we do?”

“You mean you don’t have a brilliant plan, Mr. Righteous Hero?”

That was mean. Letting go of Papyrus’ robes, Sans scrubbed at his eye sockets, wiping away any hint of a frustrated tear along with hiding the angel’s hurt expression from view.

For a moment, he allowed himself to wallow in the literal and metaphorical shattered remnants of his mostly-boring, sort-of-okay existence. Then he pushed the hysteria back down and said, “If you’re not going to go home, then the first thing we need to do is lie low until you’re back to normal. We can’t let him, or anyone else,” he added, in the likely event that the auditor had squealed on him, “catch us like that again.”

If a posse showed up to punish Sans for fraternizing with the Adversary, there was precisely dick-all either of them would be able to do about it, but it did no good to worry about that now.

“Now that you mention it, I could use a rest,” Papyrus said, rolling soreness from his wings. “Just for a bit.” He must have really felt like crap to admit even that much.

Sans weighed the pros and cons of trying to move. The random garbage and coffee table bits he was lying on were digging in like a bed of nails. On the other hand, trying to get up would jostle each and every injury, old and new, that were making him the mayor and entire city council of Painsville.

While he was thinking, Papyrus made his decision for him. Slipping an arm under the base of his wings and behind his knees, the angel stumbled uncertainly to his feet. A nearby floor lamp bit the dust when Papyrus flared his wings to balance himself.

It wasn’t the gentlest way to be moved. Sans held down a howl as fractures subtly shifted. A second wave of agony washed over him as Papyrus set him down on the couch. Sans was sure that the couch had been buried under weeks’ worth of trash, until he remembered the angel had amused himself for a while by tidying. That had been before he got it into his fool head to go hunt down an entire swarm of Nephilim by himself.

Yes, he was still mad. If by some miracle he didn’t get disappeared back to Hell and whatever bad time surely awaited him there, Sans was going to give Papyrus a piece of his mind the angel wouldn’t soon forget. He came close to launching into a lecture right then and there, but Papyrus pushing through his own pain an exhaustion to start healing Sans’ wounds for the second time short-circuited the impulse.

Even the intolerable itch of healing power was nothing more than a dull nagging sensation, Sans was so wiped out. It had been a very long time since he’d gotten fucked up this badly, and he didn’t have the endurance for it anymore.

He woke to afternoon sun reflecting off the foil of scattered wrappers on the carpet. A weight was on him. Craning his aching neck, Sans looked at the angel slumped over his legs. Papyrus knelt on the floor, wings sprawled out haphazardly. His head was pillowed on his arms, sleeping fitfully where he’d dozed off in the middle of healing a gouge in Sans’ leg.

With an effort, Sans managed to lever himself up to a sitting position without dislodging Papyrus. His wings were cramped and stinging, but thankfully they’d been healed while he was out. Had he been asleep, or unconscious? He supposed it didn’t matter, though he sure didn’t feel rested.

Carefully, he picked the candy wrapper from Papyrus’ wing, gently smoothing the feathers back down. There wasn’t much more he could do for the angel. Papyrus would have to recover on his own, and Sans had no idea how long that would take.

“Sorry, bro,” he murmured, laying a clawed hand over a scuff on Papyrus’ cheek for all the good it would do. The laying of hands didn’t work for him anymore.

He shook his head, too numb for the moment to be angry. “Why couldn’t you just listen to me for once, huh? You never think before you pull this shit. You think you can handle anything, and I wish you were right, but you’re not.”

Soft snoring was his only reply.

The rest of the lecture fizzled out at the back of Sans’ throat. When it got right down to it, this wasn’t Papyrus’ fault. Sans was the one who’d gotten careless when he should have known better.

He should have left the Nephilim alone, instead of indulging in his petty revenge fantasies and antagonizing them. He should have kept up with his work, no matter how upset Papyrus got about him sowing despair and damnation among the mortals. He should have kept the angel at arm’s length, needled at him and made his work harder until Papyrus lost all interest in trying to make friends. Better yet, he should have cut off all contact after that first encounter— blocked the angel’s number on his phone, pretended he wasn’t in the city, and just kept his head down and gone back to business as usual.

No, this was all his mess. Papyrus had only been acting according to his nature, and Sans had been too lazy or selfish to set things right.

And he could think of nothing to do now except hide here in this silly mortal apartment. Sans spared a soft chuckle for his own stupidity. He’d had the foresight to come up with a bolt-hole, but lacked the strength of character to keep it from being necessary. Moderation? Screw it. Quitting while he was ahead? Why would he do that? He wasn’t an angel of Temperance anymore. Sloth meant taking the easy way, letting the world come down around your head because it was too much work and too scary to do anything else. Hadn’t he told Papyrus that way back when?

Yeah. He’d let this happen. Maybe Heaven had it right, after all. Maybe angels really were slaves to their virtues, and demons to their vices. Maybe he’d been arrogant to think he could carve out space for the two of them between the lines.

He looked down at Papyrus, taking in every bruise and crack. The poor sap hadn’t done anything wrong, other than seeing the good in a demon who didn’t deserve his friendship or loyalty.

“You’re wrong about me, you know that?” Sans smirked sadly, knowing Papyrus would argue the point if he were awake to hear him. “But I’ll do what I can, even if it won’t amount to much. I’m in this to the end of the line.”


	8. But will he be able to play the piano, doc?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again with the pointless AU that just won't quit. It's fluff! Nothing happens! I'm becoming my own nightmare!  
> Content warning: h/c of the "shut up and eat your chicken soup" variety.

This was honestly tantamount to a war crime.

Papyrus tossed in the bed, trying to find a position that didn’t cramp his wings or aggravate his healing injuries. In the end, he settled for flopping onto his stomach, staring moodily out the sliding glass doors at the meager sliver of sky that showed through the curtains.

The first day of demon-enforced rest had gone quickly enough. Papyrus didn’t even remember most of it, too exhausted and pained to think straight. He recalled Sans hovering over him, giving him sips of water and such. The company had been nice. He may have been imagining it, but a story or a song or something might have occurred while he tried to sleep. Some kind of soothing, measured voice had kept him distracted from the pain of his injuries enough to let him rest.

Today, however, he was alert, if not rested. Sans kept checking in on him, but he wasn’t hovering at the bedside any longer. The better part of an hour had now gone by with nothing to occupy him but watching a sunbeam shift across the carpet.

Fingertips drumming on the mattress (which was still ripped up— mending it was rather low on the priority list, as much as the untidiness bothered him), Papyrus glared out at a pigeon that had landed on the balcony. It strutted back and forth on the railing like it owned the place, cooing as if to say, “Look at me enjoying this fine day out here, and you stuck in there, foolish pheasant.”

…Er, _peasant_ , rather.

“I don’t see you winning a pitched battle against all odds or pulling off any daring rescues,” Papyrus grumbled. “So you can keep your childish gloating to yourself.”

Well! Arguing with a bird was a definite sign that it was high time to leave this bed.

The task was easier said than done. Unaccustomed aches and pains plagued every square inch of his body. In a way, it was proof of how very hard he’d tried to help his friend, and he didn’t resent it, but it was unpleasant. After a few false starts, Papyrus managed to get himself upright. He sat quietly at the edge of the bed for a few minutes, enjoying his accomplishment and letting his equilibrium settle.

His raiment was still badly torn. He studied some rents in the fabric near the lower hem that mirrored gouges left in his shins. Nephilim claws really were quite sharp! He’d have to bear that in mind for the future. Now that the ordeal was over, he was rather proud of how well he’d done during the fight, though it had been a bit scary and more violent than he’d have preferred. Sans was alright and had two horns again, and that was the main thing. Sans’ huffiness over the whole affair still stung, but Papyrus reasoned that the demon had been worried over him, as was normal and appropriate in a close friendship. Viewed that way, the display of anger was rather touching. For all the demon tried to hold himself aloof, he was really a marshmallow deep down.

His strength properly gathered, Papyrus pushed himself to his feet, one hand lingering on the bed for support. He was heavier than he remembered, wobbling like a newborn foal. Slowly, he worked his way to the foot of the bed and, using his wings for balance, shuffled out of the bedroom.

It felt good to be up and moving about! Surely he just needed to get his figurative blood flowing, and he’d feel much better.

“What the hell are you doing up?”

Papyrus flinched, reaching out to steady himself with a hand against the wall. Sans peered at him from the living room sofa. The lights were off and the curtains were drawn out of some paranoid worry that the auditor might catch a glimpse of them through the windows. Sans’ face was illuminated only by the sickly green of his phone screen. He cast what could only be described as a baleful glare at Papyrus— coupled with the darkness of the room and the odd lighting he looked properly demonic.

Rustling his stiff wings (and losing another handful of damaged feathers in the process), Papyrus drew himself up as straight as he could presently manage. “I slept all day yesterday. I’m fine.” He was not getting back in that accursed bed anytime soon. All the legions of Hell couldn’t make him, and he didn’t place good odds on Sans managing by himself, either.

Sans made a frustrated chuff in the back of his throat. “You’re obviously not. Go back to bed.”

“My wings are cramping up,” Papyrus complained. He took another handful of shaky steps away from the bedroom. “I’m not built for all this lazing around.”

“It’s not ‘lazing,’” Sans said, setting his phone aside and rising from the sofa. “It’s healing, and it’s going to take more than a day.”

His own injuries were all but gone. Papyrus had been unwilling to rest until he’d returned Sans to some approximation of good health. Such a feat of healing had been incredibly impressive if Papyrus did say so himself! It had also taken most of his remaining strength, and he’d be lying if he claimed otherwise. Still, he couldn’t bear to stay cooped up in that room any longer. He’d go mad with boredom!

“Don’t worry yourself, Sans, I assure you I’m on the mend!” Papyrus did his best to strike a confident posture without overbalancing. He wasn’t able to raise his wings completely off the ground, but otherwise he imagined he looked weathered but hale.

He took a confident, on-the-mend step and found himself sinking gracelessly to the floor as his legs gave out from under him without warning. “Oh!”

Sans appeared at his side in an instant, leathery wings flexing as he tried to keep the two of them upright. He failed in that goal, Papyrus’ greater weight bearing them both down to the floor. But he did keep Papyrus from falling flat on his face. Papyrus yelped as he landed hard on his knees, the impact jolting through every crack and sprain.

“Yeah,” Sans grunted, supporting Papyrus’ upper body with some difficulty. “You’re the picture of health, bro.” His grip slipped a bit on Papyrus’ sore ribs. “Damn, how are you so heavy? You’re a stick with wings!”

“Not a stick, thank you,” Papyrus corrected through gritted teeth. Falling such a short distance hurt a surprising amount. “I’m wiry, and I hear it’s very fashionable these days.”

Sans shook his head. “Well, you can get your wiry ass back in bed before you hurt yourself.”

Going back to bed was out of the question. By way of protest, Papyrus leaned more of his weight on Sans. “If you feel so strongly about it,” he said, persevering though his ribs cried out for mercy, “you can carry me back there yourself. I’m sure I can’t make it in my fragile state.”

“Hey!” Shins scraping along the floor as Papyrus’ mass pushed him back, Sans dug his claws in. He did his best to hold Papyrus up with his frankly laughable supply of brawn. “You ain’t the Dalai Lama, so knock it off with the peaceful noncompliance!”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” Papyrus said, letting himself all but go limp. He could feel Sans’ arms shaking under the strain. Hopefully they gave out before his ribs did. “I am merely a poor invalid who is fallen and can’t get up.”

Sans growled. “You are such a shitty liar,” he snapped. “Fine! I’ll cut you a deal, how’s that?”

Shifting some of his weight back onto his knees, Papyrus perked up. “Yes? I’m listening.”

“I’ll let you camp on the couch if you promise to chill out,” Sans said, sighing in relief as he was no longer being slowly crushed by passive aggression.

Papyrus mulled over the offer while his bruised ribs throbbed. He wasn’t thrilled about doing any more sitting around, but if his options were the bed or the sofa then the sofa was clearly the superior choice. “And you’re going to stay out here?” Having company would make the boredom easier to bear, as long as Sans didn’t spend the whole time scolding him.

“Yes,” Sans said, “but you have to rest. That means lying down quietly and not making a big fuss. Can you do that?”

The nerve! Papyrus wasn’t some feckless child. “I’m perfectly capable of sitting still, Sans, and I’m not sure I appreciate your tone.”

Sans helped him up and supported him by the elbow as they made their way slowly to the sofa. “Yeah, well, talk is cheap,” he said. His mouth turned up in an exasperated smirk.

Papyrus sniffed disdainfully at the comment, but let Sans lead him to the end of the sofa and help him settle down on the cushions. His hips and back complained at being in a reclined position after too long spent lying down, but then again standing up hadn’t felt as wonderful as Papyrus had hoped, either.

Sans returned to his place at the other end of the sofa and picked up his phone once more. “Now, rest,” he said, and went back to whatever it was he’d been doing.

The minutes crawled by and Papyrus was once again left watching thin sunbeams track across the floor at a glacial pace. There wasn’t even a pigeon to antagonize him now. Going from the bed to the couch was turning out to be a lateral move at best.

“What?” Sans snapped, making Papyrus jump a bit in surprise.

“Hmm?” Papyrus blinked at Sans, who was scowling at him over the top of his phone. “What?” he echoed, confused. He didn’t remember saying anything. And he was awake, so he couldn’t be sleep-talking.

“You’ve been sighing nonstop for the last ten minutes,” Sans said. “What is it?”

Fitfully, Papyrus pulled a few loose feathers from his wing. “I’m taking leave of my sanity, penned up in here,” he said. “If I could just stretch my wings a bit…”

Sans’ scowl deepened. “You can’t even walk without help, so like hell am I going to let you try to fly and end up swan-diving twenty stories onto the pavement.”

Heaving an enormous sigh, Papyrus sat up. The motion made him lightly dizzy, but he tried not to show it. “Can I at least go out on the balcony? Surely that won’t do any harm.”

Setting his phone down again, Sans pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, you can’t go out. What if that auditor saw you? We’re only safe in here because he doesn’t know where we are.”

“But I need fresh air!”

At this point, Papyrus didn’t give a toss about the auditor. That impertinent demon could try what he liked. Now that Sans was well, they were sure to be a match for him if they took him on together. Besides, that fellow had earned a stern talking-to, and Papyrus was of a mind to give him the business.

Muttering under his breath, Sans sprang up from the couch and stalked off down the hallway, tail lashing to and fro in time with his inaudible complaints. He came back a minute later with a small fan, which he set on the floor and plugged in. He aimed it at Papyrus, sending an artificial breeze to play with his feathers and the tatters of his robes.

“There,” he said, returning to his phone. “You have all the breeze you could ever need right here.”

“That’s not the same thing,” Papyrus protested, but seeing as Sans was unlikely to be moved by his pleas, he tried to make the best of it. Laying his head on his folded arms, he closed his eye sockets and did his best to pretend he was outside in the shade, with a natural wind moving over his wings instead of stale air pushed along by a noisy little machine.

Some fifteen minutes later, Sans shot him another glare. His tail thumped against the couch cushions in annoyance.

Papyrus looked back at him innocently. “What?”

“You keep fidgeting.”

“Do I?”

“Yes,” Sans said, redirecting his gaze back to his phone screen. “It’s distracting, and you’re wasting energy you need to get better, so knock it off.”

Papyrus could do without the scolding, but he made an attempt to sit still. Focusing on not moving, unfortunately, only gave him an increasingly intense desire to move. His wings were especially twitchy. He was used a flying miles a day in the course of his work, and simply for his own enjoyment and self-improvement. Odd that not being able to fly highlighted how integral it was to his routine.

The apartment felt smaller than it had the first time he’d been here, and that was a fact. He didn’t know how Sans could bear being inside so long. “I’m not meant to be stuck in a box,” Papyrus grumbled, gesturing at the room around them.

“Uh-huh,” Sans said, not looking up.

Feeling his face heat up at being brushed off, Papyrus frowned. “Angels are supposed to be out in Creation aiding mortals, not staring at a blank wall doing nothing!”

Sans took a deep breath, air hissing gently between his fangs. Reaching back to the side table, he picked up the television remote and put on a nature documentary.

“There. Creation. Enjoy.”

Papyrus spent the next half hour in a profound sulk, using one of his wings to cover himself and block Sans from view. Sans wasn’t even paying any attention to him at all! And while he was injured, no less! How could he be so callous today after being so nice yesterday?

Though he did his best to give Sans the cold shoulder, the tactic wasn’t very useful when the demon wasn’t paying him any mind. Eventually, boredom won out. “What are you doing, anyway?”

“Going through my contact list.”

Interest piqued, Papyrus moved his wing aside, staring at the phone as though he could see through it if he tried hard enough. There must be a lot of contacts if it was taking so long to look through them. Was Sans popular? He’d never hinted at it. Wouldn’t that be something, to be good friends with someone who was high in demand!

“Why are you doing that?”

Sans glanced at him, and Papyrus finally noticed how much darker than usual his dark circles were. The demon had been fairly un-lazy for the last day or so, so perhaps he was running out of juice. That would explain the snappish temper. Expending effort surely wasn’t part of a Sloth demon’s usual repertoire.

“I’m trying to remember who owes me favors,” Sans said, one claw clicking gently against the glass of the phone screen. “Someone who knows how to keep their mouth shut.”

Papyrus perked up, sitting up straighter with greater effort than he would wish to admit. “You have friends that can help with the auditor?” How intriguing! He wondered what Sans’ friends were like. He knew he shouldn’t be curious about demons in such a way, but he couldn’t help hoping that whoever Sans called for help would like him.

Of course, there was no reason they shouldn’t like him! He was Papyrus, as charming as he was talented and good-looking! And while he might not be at his usual absolute best, he was still well above average even in his injured state. Any right-thinking being would be all too happy to make his acquaintance, surely.

Sans wrapped his tail around his legs. The tip twitched back and forth fitfully. “I wouldn’t say friends. That’s not really our style Downstairs.”

“What?” Papyrus took a moment to think. “So I’m your only friend, then?” How sad! But also… “Which would make me your best friend.”

“By default, I guess. Yeah.”

A warm glow suffused Papyrus’ halo. As he was still feeling under the weather, it lit a bit unevenly, flickering at random like a fluorescent light on the fritz. “Quality is superior to quantity, Sans! You can rest easy in the knowledge that you have the finest friend on the market.”

“Heh.” A tired grin fluttered over Sans’ mouth and was gone. “I know, bro. Now knock it off with all that sappy crap while I’m mad at you.”

“Still?” Papyrus’ glow faded back down. “But I saved you from the auditor, and everything! I thought I did a good job.”

Sans glared sharply. “Yeah, and you…” His shoulders slumped and he sighed, rubbing his temples. “Look, you could have gotten hurt a lot worse than you did. You understand that, right? Because it really seems like you don’t, and it’s wigging me out.”

“But I didn’t.” Papyrus couldn’t understand why Sans kept focusing on something that hadn’t happened. It didn’t make any sense. “I’m sorry if I worried you, but-”

“Do yourself a favor and don’t finish that sentence,” Sans snapped. “I mean it. You’re on thin ice already.”

Papyrus wilted. He wasn’t sure he liked all this scolding. Generally he was the scolder rather than the scoldee, and the reversal felt utterly at odds with the natural order of things. He didn’t know how to get Sans to let go of his foul mood, either. Trying to reassure him only seemed to make him more upset.

Normally, Papyrus was wont to do something thoughtful and helpful for anyone feeling out of sorts. That would be difficult to accomplish while he was injured, and the attempt might irritate Sans, which was the opposite of the effect he wanted. What else was there?

Feeling at loose ends and still horrendously restless, Papyrus shuffled his wings into a more comfortable position and settled in to think of ways to cheer up his (by default, but Papyrus would take what he could get) best friend.

He woke to a living room that was much darker, the sun having set. The television still babbled softly to itself in the corner of the room, bathing him in flickering artificial light. Moving to sit up, he nearly kicked over a bowl that was sitting on the floor in front of the couch. That Sans! Always leaving his trash lying around…

Looking closer at the bowl, Papyrus could see that it wasn’t simply another dirty dish, but held a generous portion of oatmeal. Little multicolored eggs (well, not really eggs— he didn’t know what they actually were, other than tasty) broke through its surface. His favorite mortal food. The room spun a bit as he reached down to pick up the bowl. He sat quietly until his surroundings decided to hold still again.

At the other end of the couch, Sans leaned forward, tail curling in pleased interest. “Just a second, bro.” He clambered across the length of the couch and reaching out to touch the side of the bowl with his clawtips. Heat radiated from the spot until the oatmeal was steaming again. “I thought you’d wake up when I brought it out,” Sans said, somewhat apologetically, “but you were really zonked.”

“Thank you,” Papyrus said, unsure how oatmeal would help him recover but happy to have it. Sans made this sort of overtly kind gesture only on occasion. Though he was used to Sans’ natural undercurrent of obnoxiousness and didn’t mind it, these rare blips of sincerity were special. Papyrus tried his best to fully appreciate them when they happened.

And this was his favorite food. Little colored egg things! In oatmeal! How did the mortals come up with such an idea? Were they fruits of some kind? He had no clue, but it was delightful.

Sans watched him eat, looking more relaxed than he had been this afternoon. His tail had lost its apprehensive stiffness and his wings sat low and loose rather than clamped against his back. “Yeah. I figured if sleeping helps you heal, eating might be worth a shot.”

“I’m not sure how it would,” Papyrus said, adding, “but I do hope you’re right,” so that Sans wouldn’t feel discouraged for going out of his way to prepare a meal for him. He was sure Sans was doing everything he could to be helpful, and after all it must be incredibly frustrating to have no capacity for healing. Demons really did get short shrift in that department.

…Which was good for the forces of Good, naturally! All the same, Papyrus often found himself wishing that Sans was exempt from some of the more unfortunate side effects of being Fallen. Losing the ability to perform miracles was, at the moment, at the top of the list of things Papyrus would like Upstairs to reconsider in Sans’ specific case. Could such a thing be appealed? He’d have to ask Undyne about it sometime.

Hunger wasn’t really a sensation immortals had, but Papyrus happily started on the oatmeal regardless. After a while, eating became something of a habit, he supposed. Going too long without felt odd. Perhaps he’d spent so long on the mortal plane he’d gone native. Wouldn’t everyone upstairs be impressed at how well he fit in down here!

“Did you find the friend, er…the associate,” Papyrus amended, “that you were looking for?”

Sans nodded, his tentative grin fading. “I sent a text, but no reply yet. Not that surprising I guess,” he said, smirking, one fang catching the light from the television. “Decades of radio silence, and then I ask for a favor that’s gonna be a huge pain in the ass. I’d make me wait, too.”

“You should keep in better touch with your friends,” Papyrus chided, inwardly comforted by the opportunity to lecture. “Then maybe you could call this person your friend without feeling the need to equivocate.”

“Yeah, okay.” Sans rolled his eyes. “I’ll make a note of sending holiday cards out this year.”

Papyrus chewed a bite of slowly congealing oatmeal somberly. Speaking with one’s mouth full was horribly rude and distasteful, so he swallowed before saying, “I just don’t enjoy thinking of you being lonely.”

Sans frowned. “I’m not lonely. I’m fine.” He turned his attention toward whatever was now playing on the television.

Part of Papyrus wanted to mention that he himself had been more than a little lonely until they’d begun their unorthodox friendship (fraternization was such a harsh word, and they didn’t talk about anything sensitive to either side, after all). Maybe the admission would encourage Sans to open up a bit, as was appropriate and emotionally healthy between friends. But healthy didn’t necessarily translate to easy, as an angel of his Virtue knew well enough. Integrity and honesty were difficult, or else mortals wouldn’t need beings like him to help inspire it.

On that account, he supposed that he was not entirely living up to his vocation at the moment. Then again, perhaps he could consider himself to be on medical leave, and not worry so much. Worry would probably make him heal slower, wouldn’t it? A positive attitude was paramount in maintaining good health. He’d read that somewhere— either from Thomas Aquinas or Dr. Oz, he couldn’t quite remember which.

Thinking on that only led him back around to the start of his train of thought today, which was how awfully bored and restless he was. Eating only provided so much entertainment, and he was almost done with the oatmeal already. “How long do you suppose this will take?” He fluffed his tatty wings in renewed irritation. Feathers drifted down onto the couch cushions.

“How would I know?”

“Surely you have some idea,” Papyrus huffed, “since you have to heal the slow way.”

Sans gave him a sidelong glare. “I also make a point of not getting myself thrashed in pointless fights, so…”

Feathers rustled as Papyrus crossed his arms. His ribs complained at the abrupt motion, but he couldn’t let Sans’ claim pass without comment. “Except when you do,” he said, glancing pointedly at the visible line where Sans’ broken horn had been melded back together.

“Go back to sleep,” Sans said, refusing to take the bait.

Halfway to another sulk, Papyrus thought over Sans’ comment. He was tired of sleeping, as oxymoronic as it sounded. Still, Sans had seemed to be in a better mood when he woke up from his unplanned nap. Was it because Papyrus had slept? Had that successfully cheered Sans up, where all of his other ideas had been unsuccessful?

Hmm. Well, if it was something that gave Sans some peace of mind, maybe Papyrus could act like he was asleep. Just for a tiny bit.

 

Sans glanced up as the sound of gentle snoring carried from Papyrus’ side of the couch. Heh. It was like pulling teeth, getting the angel to settle down and rest. It looked like boring him to sleep worked as well as anything.

Standing and stretching the kinks from his spine, Sans quietly collected the empty bowl off the floor and took it to the kitchen. He didn’t go so far as to wash it, but he knew waking up to the sight of a dirty dish would only make Papyrus crankier than he already was. Poor guy didn’t take well to inactivity. Being stuck in an admittedly messy apartment that he was currently too weak to clean probably didn’t help.

Sans returned to the couch, pausing to give Papyrus a once-over. He was still pretty banged up, but it looked like the worst of the gouges and cracks were starting to knit together. If Papyrus was this wound up after only two days, Sans didn’t have the heart to tell him it would likely take three weeks or more to fully heal. Since Papyrus was stronger than Sans he might heal faster, but the last thing he wanted was for Papyrus to overdo it too early and hurt himself.

That would be an argument for another day. For now, a nap didn’t look like a bad idea. Sans pulled a spare blanket from the bedroom and spread it over the couch, covering Papyrus with enough material left over for him to crawl under on his side. Head pillowed on the arm of the couch, Sans made one last visual check of the room. The door was locked and bolted, and the little chain thing was fastened. Salt lined every windowsill. The curtains were all drawn so that no one hovering outside could see in. Papyrus’ wings twitched slightly in his sleep, the only movement in the room. A flying dream, maybe? Hopefully. Being awake kind of sucked right now, so a fun dream was the least Papyrus deserved.

“I’m still mad at you,” Sans whispered into the stillness. He couldn’t put much conviction behind it, and dozed off smirking at himself. Shitty liar.

 


	9. Cue the Three's Company theme song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's demonic nonsense again! Already!  
> Content: the affront to god and nature that is box wine.

Papyrus glanced at the clock on the wall. He wasn’t sure why he kept doing that. The battery was dead and Sans, of course, had never bothered to fix it. The time in the apartment was constantly a quarter to nine.

Noticing himself pacing, Papyrus stopped and heaved an irritated sigh. He pulled his phone from his pocket to check the actual time. Nearly five o’clock. No messages, either. Papyrus tapped out a brusque text and hit send. Then, because it was bothering him, Papyrus took the clock from the wall and spun the hands to the proper time. Once it was back on the wall it ticked away without complaint. It would run down again once he forgot about it, but for now it was one less source of aggravation.

How long had Sans been out? He’d left before noon, Papyrus was certain.

A knock at the door made Papyrus’ wings bunch up in alarm. That was odd. He’d had been under the impression that the mortals in charge of this building thought this unit was owned by a mortal who was away a lot on business (which, to be fair, was half true). Why would one of them knock on the door?

Had Sans ordered a pizza? Papyrus hoped not. He hated having to pay delivery people. Making money struck him as a very frivolous use of a miracle. More importantly, it was technically counterfeiting, which was illegal and wrong.

Besides, Sans indulged too much in eating. Maybe if Papyrus ignored whoever was at the door, they’d go away.

The knock repeated, louder this time.

What happened if the delivery person couldn’t collect payment for the pizza? Would they get in trouble? Papyrus had never considered it before, but he’d hate to be the reason someone got in trouble. That seemed like an uninspiring thing to set in motion, which ran counter to his purpose in life. He’d done nothing useful for the mortals since he’d been injured heroically aiding Sans, in fact, and it was starting to make him antsy.

Well, of course! Instead of fretting over miraculously paying for a pizza, Papyrus ought to look at his situation as a golden opportunity to inspire a mortal. How lucky, to be able to fulfill his vocation even while injured and in hiding! He was truly an exemplary angel. The minor sin of contributing to the undermining of the local currency was surely outweighed by the good he could do for the health of this mortal’s soul.

Mortals tended to see what they expected to see— therefore the vast majority of them didn’t see a being like Papyrus as he truly was. Generally, they didn’t perceive him at all, which was arguably a good thing since the handful of times he had revealed himself had turned out rather traumatic for all concerned. Otherwise, he appeared as someone quite normal and extremely forgettable for the time it took to complete whatever brief interaction was required.

Perhaps it was hypocritical to inspire integrity while incognito and buying a pizza with money not issued by a government mint, but that was simply the way the cards had been dealt today. Thinking positive thoughts, Papyrus opened the door in an inspiring fashion.

There was no pizza. There was no mortal holding the missing pizza. Somewhere there was probably a mortal delivering a pizza to some other residence, but it wasn’t here.

Papyrus stared.

The unfamiliar demon stared back, her tail and all six of her wings twitching nervously.

“I think you have the wrong address,” Papyrus said, at a loss.

Should he summon his mace? He had a feeling he ought to, but it was ungallant to throw the first punch. Also, on an unrelated note, this particular demon looked quite a bit tougher than a scruffy band of Nephilim, thick glasses and polka-dot dress aside.

The demon didn’t attack, only shuffled uncertainly in the doorway. “You’re n-not Sans. Um, isn’t th-this where S-sans wanted to meet?” She took a cell phone hung with a prodigious cluster of charms from her pocket. “I h-have the text thread s-somewhere…”

Papyrus started at the utterance of Sans’ name. “Oh! You’re Sans’ friend! The one he was texting yesterday.” His discomfiture evaporated. This demon was nothing to worry about if Sans had sent for her. Good thing he hadn’t threatened to wallop her with his mace! That would have been an exceedingly awkward first impression, and Papyrus prided himself on always making an excellent impression on anyone he met.

The demon blushed under her golden scales as Papyrus ushered her inside. “D-did he call me that? His…f-friend?” Her tail curled in cautious optimism.

Papyrus was loathe to burst her bubble, but as an angel who espoused honestly above all virtues he had no choice but to correct his own gaffe. “Well,” he said, in a diplomatic tone, “perhaps he didn’t use that exact term. But the sentiment was there, I’m sure!”

“Ah. Th-that sounds more…more like it,” the demon said, deflating slightly.

Her reaction made Papyrus doubt the veracity of Sans’ claim that demons didn’t go in for friendships, but then this demon struck him as being rather exceptional. Not that he had much basis for comparison, of course. “Sans is out at the moment,” he said, clearing a space at the kitchen island for her to sit down. “He should be back any time.”

The demon perched on a stool, tail wrapping around one leg and shoulders hunched. “He s-said he had a p-problem, but he wouldn’t…wouldn’t explain over the ph-phone.” She gave Papyrus a discreet once-over with her eyes. “I t-take it he was talking…about you?”

“Tch! Miss, the Great Papyrus is the opposite of a problem. But demons such as yourself are often laboring under backwards misapprehensions, so don’t worry about it.” Payrus took a moment to smooth down his feathers. He really wasn’t looking his best, which annoyed him, but it couldn’t be helped.

The apartment wasn’t looking its best, either. He still didn’t have the energy to spare with cleaning it up, whether miraculously or through mortal-style elbow grease. All the same, he found himself puttering a bit, putting away boxes and bags of snacks that Sans had left abandoned on the kitchen counters.

“I happen to be Sans’ best friend,” he added, dumping a warm quart of milk down the sink. He couldn’t help showing off his newly-realized status, or impressing on the demon just who the third wheel was in this configuration.

Rather than look duly impressed, the demon frowned, brow creased above her glasses. “That’s…that’s a p-problem, all right.”

Hadn’t Papyrus just said he was the opposite of a problem? She must not have heard him clearly. Well, Papyrus would be gracious toward her, since he was acting as host while Sans was out. And he’d been out an awfully long while.

“I’m Alphys, b-by the way,” the demon said, clawed hands clasped in her lap. “S-sorry, I forgot to…to introduce m-myself. I w-wasn’t expecting an angel to open the d-door.”

“Quite understandable,” Papyrus said brightly. He stamped down his concern over Sans’ tardiness in favor of seeing to their guest. “I’m the Great Papyrus, future seraph and Sans’ best friend.”

Alphys’ brow twitched just a hair. “Yeah, you m-mentioned that already.” Sighing, she showed her teeth in a rueful smile. “In that c-case I’m a f-former seraph and Sans’ d-distant colleague.”

Former seraph? Now, that was interesting! Papyrus leaned his elbows on the island, questions popping up like daffodils in his brain. This was turning into a decent networking opportunity against all odds. “A seraph, you say? Yes,” he said, taking a second look at Alphys’ generous compliment of wings, “I suppose you must have been. How impressive!”

“Oh,” Alphys said, waving him off with a limp hand. “I r-really wasn’t all that m-much. Obviously.” Her eyes glanced upward, directing Papyrus’ attention to her horns.

Papyrus was about to make some kind of conciliatory comment on the nature of Falling and how it was never too late to choose to be a good person, but a question barreled through his gathering pep talk and put it out of his mind.

“Say, did you happen to know Undyne at all? She’s a seraph, too! An extremely excellent and cool one!”

Alphys sat bolt upright, eyes going wide behind her glasses. “You k-know Undyne?”

A-ha! She did know her. What a wonderful chance to learn more about his esteemed mentor. “Yes, we’re great chums,” Papyrus said, elated. “I’m her protege, but I don’t like to go around bragging about it, as I’m sure you understand.”

“I s-see,” Alphys said, not as impressed as Papyrus expected. Maybe she was merely overcome with fond reminiscence of her dear friend Undyne, about whom she knew all kinds of privileged information!

“I imagine you must have a number of amusing and insightful anecdotes that would make wonderful small talk while we wait for Sans,” Papyrus prompted when Alphys failed to launch into the aforementioned storytelling.

“Hmm?” Alphys shook a faraway look from her face. “Oh, I d-don’t know. It was a l-long…long time ago.” She twiddled her thumbs nervously. “Is she d-doing alright? D-does she ever…” Trailing off a moment, she shook her head. “I m-mean, she m-must be very busy.”

Disappointed but not deterred, Papyrus nodded. “Oh, yes! She’s always got a great deal of work to do, on account of being very competent and good at things.”

Alphys looked ready to ask a question, but at that moment Sans appeared in the middle of the living room, unannounced as always, carrying a shopping bag. Clearly unused to these sudden entrances, Alphys flinched, nearly toppling off the stool.

“Oh, there you are! About time!” Papyrus called, waving him over. A small, nagging tension at the back of his neck released. Now everyone was safely cooped up in the apartment, and there was no more need to worry (or seethe with jealousy that Sans had been outside). “Your friend Alphys is here. Did you know she’s friends with Undyne? It’s such a small universe!”

Sans gave Alphys a careful once-over as he set the bag down on the island. “Didn’t think you’d show up today,” he said, lacking the warmth that usually accompanied seeing a friend after an absence.

“Well, you s-said it was an…an emergency.”

“Hey,” Papyrus said, pawing through the shopping bag. “You said you were going to do reconnaissance to see if that auditor was around. Why are you back with chips?” Was that what had taken him so long? If Papyrus wanted to stretch his wings outside, that was dangerous and unnecessary, but it was fine for Sans to get food he didn’t even need to eat? There was no justice.

Sans shrugged. “I can do both.”

Alphys stood, the stool skidding back on the linoleum floor. “D-did he say auditor?” She stared at Sans, wringing her clawed hands. “You’re b-being audited?”

Still taken by the unfairness of Sans’ side trip, Papyrus missed Alphys’ alarm entirely. “Sans, this kitchen is full of snacks already.”

“Yeah, but they’re all stale,” Sans said, taking out a bag of corn chips and popping it open. He held it out to Alphys. “May I offer you a corn chip in these trying times?”

Brows knitted together, Alphys glanced from Sans to the bag and back. “I d-don’t know what that is,” she said, shaking her head. “B-but you’re being audited. You n-need to take this s-seriously.”

“Why do you think I got hold of you?” Sans tossed a corn chip into the air and caught it in his mouth. It was sort of impressive, but now wasn’t the time for feats of skill. And the chips were still blatantly unfair and an affront to Papyrus’ sensibilities.

Papyrus took the bag away, heedless of Sans’ protests. “Alphys is absolutely right. This is no time for food.”

“I’m a stress eater, it’s the perfect time for food,” Sans said, grabbing another package from the shopping bag. After a few handfuls he set that package aside and fished out another one, continuing his mindless grazing.

“This is why everything you have is stale!”

“Alphys,” Sans said around a mouthful of popcorn, pointedly ignoring Papyrus’ very valid point, “I’ve been thinking about the bylaws and I have a great idea you’re gonna love vis a vis this stupid audit.”

Feeling that he was being shouldered out of the discussion, Papyrus set aside the confiscated corn chips. “Bylaws?”

“Hell h-has a surprising n-number of rules,” Alphys said, sighing.

Sans smirked. “Yeah, it’s bureaucracy as far as the eye can see. And there’s a whole section of bylaws governing demonic territory and seniority.”

“I d-don’t know if I l-like where this is going.”

“Look, Alphys,” Sans said, gesturing with a cheese curl from a fourth soon-to-be-stale package. “I’m in a bind. All you gotta do is claim this city as your territory and you can kick out any lower ranking demon in the area you want to, including that auditor.”

Papyrus brightened. “Really? And that would take care of it?” He could go outside again! What an easy solution!

Alphys didn’t look as enthusiastic about the idea. “You w-want me to drop everything I’m d-doing and c-camp out in the mortal p-plane because you stopped d-doing your job?”

“Well, when you put it that way of course it sounds bad,” Sans said. “Come on, Al! I’m being unjustly persecuted, here.”

“It’s true,” Papyrus chimed in. “That auditor is extremely rude. Why, he tried to do the audit right there in that grubby ally with Sans completely bashed up, and-”

Alphys’ wings rustled against her back. She turned a surprisingly harsh glare on Sans. “You g-got into a f-fight with an auditor?!”

Sans patted Alphys on the shoulder consolingly. “Nah, this was a completely different fight. Heh,” he said, “it’s actually kind of a rough neighborhood, so be careful walking around by yourself, yeah?”

“Oh, m-my goodness…” Alphys pinched the bridge of her snout with one hand.

“So, you’re in?”

Alphys adjusted her glasses, tail lashing side to side in a manner that Papyrus judged to be less than thrilled. “I c-can see why you d-didn’t want to do this over the…the phone.”

Sans grinned uncertainly.

“Because I would have s-saved myself the t-trip,” Alphys clarified. “Which w-was long, b-by the way.”

“Aw, Al! Don’t be like that!”

“B-bye, Sans,” Alphys said, making for the door.

That wasn’t good. Papyrus leapt into action, placing himself gently but firmly in front of the door. “After your long trip, it seems a shame to give up on the negotiations so quickly.”

“P-papyrus, it was nice to m-meet you, but I’m l-leaving,” Alphys said, and gestured for him to move out of her way.

Sans caught up with them, brow furrowed though he kept his smile up. “Look,” he said, “maybe asking you to move here was a little abrupt. Sure. Forget the whole thing. What if you could just talk to this clown, huh? See if we can’t come up with some kinda deal?”

Alphys gave a noncommittal hum. “Why c-can’t you do that yourself?”

“Because I’m nobody,” Sans said, as if the fact were abundantly obvious. “But you carry some clout! I bet he’d listen to you.”

Papyrus brightened, his mission as a living blockade temporarily forgotten. “Oh? Are you an influential person, Alphys?” How exciting!

“Yeah,” Sans said, “the lords of Hell totally love her, since she-”

“D-don’t bring that up, p-please,” Alphys snapped. She stood thinking for a moment, tail twitching. “Who is th-this auditor?”

Sans pumped his fist triumphantly. “Alphys, seriously, you’re a true bro.”

“I haven’t s-said yes yet.”

“You’re gonna, though,” Sans said, waving her off. “Don’t forget you still owe me for the Japan thing. And I have no idea. Never met the guy before.”

“He has one eye, and half a face, and noodly arms, and he’s terribly rude,” Papyrus said, helpfully.

He made a mental note to ask about what had happened in Japan, as well. Had Sans saved Alphys’ life in some daring fashion? Had they committed a noble deed together and were now bound by an oath of secrecy against the nefarious machinations of Hell itself? Perhaps both?

How thrilling! Papyrus hoped he was right.

“O-one eye, and…” Alphys blanched. “Oh. Y-you’re sure?”

“We got a pretty good look at him while he was chasing us across half the city,” Sans said. “You know him?”

“Y-yes, unfortunately. M-mettaton. No relation t-to Metatron,” Alphys sighed. “I d-don’t know if he’d listen to m-me.”

Papyrus grinned. Surely this was a good development? If Alphys was Sans’ friend (if not in so many words) and this Mettaton was friends with Alphys, then that basically made Sans and his auditor friends! Logically, that should make the whole business much easier to resolve without undue unpleasantness.

“I’m sure he’d listen if you explained how silly this all is.” Papyrus crossed his arms in an air of confident finality. “Really, Sans is very good at demon…ing? And if he’s lazy it’s only because it’s his nature. He’s a Sloth demon, after all. He can’t very well help that.”

“Too true,” Sans said, nodding sagely.

Alphys aimed a doubtful look at Papyrus. “If he’s s-so blameless, what are y-you doing here?”

Sans winced. Papyrus straightened to his full height, affronted. “There’s no need to take that tone, madam! Is it a crime to make friends?”

“With y-you? Yes!” Giving up on the idea of storming out, Alphys turned from the door and sank onto the couch. “G-getting audited is b-bad enough, but if he’s s-seen you hanging around together th-that’s…really b-bad. This isn’t g-going to be easy,” she said, resting her chin in her hand.

Sans perked up instantly, appearing at Alphys’ side as apparently walking a short distance was out of the question.

“You’re gonna try to talk him down, then?”

“I d-do owe you, I g-guess.”

Sans laid a toothy kiss on her cheek. “Al, you’re an ang… Well, you know what I mean,” he said, grinning. “We’re square after this.”

Blushing furiously, Alphys scooted a little ways down the couch. “Yes, I’d hope s-so.”

Relieved, and happy to see Sans in such high spirits, Papyrus got to the other end of the couch in time to intercept Alphys as she scooted into a hug ambush. The moment she was within reach, he wrapped his arms and wings around her in a gleeful embrace.

Alphys made a sound not unlike a rubber duck when squeezed.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re going to help us!” Papyrus let her go, whereupon she wheezed a lungful of air. “You’re such a good friend!”

“D-don’t expect t-too much,” Alphys said, flushed and straightening her glasses. “It’s b-been a long time since we l-last…last talked.”

Details could be worked out later. For now, Papyrus was too elated to bother with any frippery like that. “Oh, you should stay here, too! It’ll be like a sleepover! I’ve never had one of those. We can tell ghost stories!” An idea completed its long circuit back around to the forefront of his mind, late but not forgotten. “Ghost stories…about Undyne!”

Alphys looked at Sans in a vaguely pleading fashion.

Sans shrugged. “He’s been watching a lot of TV since we’ve been laying low. Don’t ask me.”

 

  
Looking on the bright side (which was one of his many specialties), Papyrus was nearly completely healed. He felt much better than he had when he’d rescued Sans from that auditor, that was for sure.

On the other hand, now that he was back to one hundred and ten percent, being stuck in Sans’ apartment was beyond unbearable. And he thought he’d been bored before! He’d run out of things to clean days ago, and was now merely in maintenance mode. Wiping down counters and refluffing the accent pillows on the couch wasn’t anywhere near stimulating enough. He’d long passed boredom and was now navigating the troubled waters of stir-crazy.

Having someone new to talk to had helped for a matter of hours. Alphys was annoyingly reticent to discuss Undyne, and she didn’t seem to enjoy the kind of spirited debates he shared with Sans. When he pointed out flaws in the demonic philosophy, she just stammered an apology or said something self-deprecating, which left Papyrus feeling more caddish than triumphant.

Lying on the couch and feeling his wings cramping up from lack of use, Papyrus scrolled down the various social media alerts on his phone. During his convalescence, he’d gotten into the habit of going through random mortals’ web logs and leaving anonymous notes of encouragement. It wasn’t as effective as inspiring them directly, but it let him feel like he was still doing some small amount of good in the world. It was a lifeline for his sanity, but he needed to get outside and moving soon or he was likely to snap. Words on a screen were but a pale shadow of the world, and the world was even paler and more shadowy for being deprived of his excellent work and majestic but approachable charm.

The fact that Alphys and Sans felt the need to spend hours and hours discussing what to do about the auditor was grating on the last of his patience. His attempts to hurry things along had met with failure, as Sans had finally gotten fed up and banished him to the living room ‘while the grown-ups talked.’ Rude.

So here he was, stewing in inactivity. Again.

“What if h-he’s already made a…a report?” Alphys sat with her back to the living room, wings twitching fitfully.

Sans shook his head. “I don’t know why he’d still be skulking around up here if that were the case.”

Alphys didn’t seem convinced. “If w-word gets out about what you’re d-doing, I’ll b-be in deep trouble, t-too.”

“No one’ll have any proof that you’ve even seen him,” Sans said, gaze flicking past Alphys’ shoulder at Papyrus. “And you know I wouldn’t throw you under the bus, come on.”

Papyrus sat up, restless and irked at being talked about when he’d been kicked out of the conversation.

“That’s n-not much comfort.” Claws drumming on the island counter-top, Alphys sighed. “What w-were you thinking, anyway? It n-not like you to g-get involved when it’s n-not your problem.”

Sans cast another furtive look into the living room. “I dunno, Al,” he grumbled softly. “You had to be there, okay? Lay off.”

“I’m j-just saying,” Alphys went on, a faint note of irritation underlying her natural timidness. “If you needed s-someone to talk t-to, you had other…other options.”

“You’re both straying from the topic at hand,” Papyrus cut in, rising from the couch and striding back to the island with what he hoped was stern authority. “And I have to say, talking about someone who can hear you isn’t terribly grown-up of you.” He cast a withering glance at Alphys, who would have withered at the very slightest provocation and so ruined any sense of rightly putting her in her place.

Other options, indeed! Of all the nerve! The Great Papyrus had no substitutes.

Sans rolled his eyes, the lights flickering briefly. “She didn’t mean anything by it, bro. Don’t get your feathers in a twist.”

“And when are we going to go after this troublesome auditor, hmm?” Now that Papyrus unquestionably had the moral high ground, he intended to leverage it. “I’m hearing an awful lot of talking in circles but I’m seeing no action! What is the hold-up? Are you mice or demons?”

Alphys made a conciliatory gesture. “This is a d-delicate situation, P-papyrus. We h-have to be c-careful.”

“But you outrank this blasted Mettaton, don’t you?” For the life of him, Papyrus couldn’t see what the issue was. “Wasn’t the plan for you to boot him out of our city? Just go do that.”

“I s-still can’t j-just bully him around out of n-nowhere,” Alphys argued. “He’s g-got his pride and his own r-reputation to worry about. If we d-don’t handle this the right w-way, it could b-blow up in our…in our faces.”

Sans rested his chin on his hand. “She’s right. You’re just gonna have to be patient while we figure this out. We’ve waited this long.”

“Exactly!” Papyrus’ wings flared in agitation, knocking over an empty glass on the counter. “I’ve been stuck in this miserable little box for so long I’m starting to molt!” By way of illustration, he reached back and freed a fistful of feathers from one wing. They gleamed dully in the fluorescent light. He could swear his wings were starting to gather dust.

While Alphys cast him a sympathetic look, Sans was having none of it.

“You think I’m not tired of sitting around in here?” he snapped. “I’m a Sloth demon and even I’m bored out of my skull. You’re the one who got yourself mixed up in this, so you can wait while we decide on a decent plan.”

“You’re the one who called me!”

Sans slapped his hands on the island top, leaning as far as he could without tipping the stool over. “And I didn’t ask you to pick a fight with half the Nephilim in the city and tip off where I was to a damn auditor, did I?” Sans blinked, and sat back down.

“G-guys?” Alphys piped up, tail curled tightly around her legs. She looked torn between vacating the kitchen and holding very still so as to go ignored by both of them.

“Right, right,” Sans said, dragging a hand down his face. “Can we stop having this same argument over and over?”

Papyrus crossed his arms. “You started it this time,” he muttered.

Sans opened his mouth, on the edge of a retort. With a well-timed cough, Alphys drew their attention back to the matter at hand.

“If M-mettaton is s-still how I remember,” she said, “then insulting or…or humiliating h-him in any way is g-going to backfire.” Alphys adjusted her glasses, though they’d been straight to begin with. “Which is why I c-can’t throw m-my weight around and-”

“You shouldn’t put yourself down like that,” Papyrus interjected, aghast at Alphys’ negativity. “There’s nothing wrong with your figure.”

Sans sniggered behind his hand while Alphys blushed.

“It’s j-just a figure of s-speech, Papyrus.”

Papyrus folded his arms, resolute. “Be that as it may, self esteem is very important, and you should be careful of the sort of self-talk to which you subject yourself.”

“Yeah, Al,” Sans said, still stifling laughter for some odd reason. “You gotta look in the mirror and tell yourself you’re a strong, attractive demon with a lot to offer.”

“Yes! I do affirmations all the time,” Papyrus said, nodding along. “It’s very healthful.”

Alphys rolled her eyes, a gesture that was magnified by her thick lenses. “You t-two are g-going off the rails again.”

The distance from the kitchen island to the refrigerator was only a few paces, but Sans still couldn’t be bothered to walk, opting simply to appear at the fridge door. “Aw, we’re just ribbing you, Al,” he said, winking over his shoulder as he dug a box out of the bottom shelf. He reappeared with it at the island, setting it at the edge so that the little plastic tap was unimpeded. “May I interest the lady in a coffee mug of wine while she continues psychoanalyzing our foe? I think we’re all getting a little on edge.”

Papyrus wasn’t sure alcohol would be helpful to their strategizing session, but he was too busy basking in the glow of Sans’ offhand “we” to protest. “We” as in, two best pals playfully japing with a third pal who was quite good in her own way, but not enough to be included in “we.” Seeing that Sans did seem to have at least one other friend was comforting, as Papyrus truly didn’t want him to be lonely. However, it was even better to know that out of both of Sans’ friends, Papyrus was the best of the lot. Not by default, but for real.

Add to that the sudden realization that being Sans’ best friend meant that he was automatically friends with Alphys as well (via the transitive property of friendship, which he had discovered himself just now) and Papyrus’ frustration at being stuck inside the apartment was soon replaced with the fizzy warmth of contentment.

While Sans dispensed the wine, Alphys peered doubtfully at the box.

“Wine c-comes in b-boxes now? When d-did that happen?”

Papyrus passed her a chipped mug, and gestured helpfully at the small print on the box’s label. “It’s actually a mixed wine beverage,” he said, “not wine. They’re required by law to say that.”

Alphys scrutinized her mug of wine-like beverage with renewed concern, and Papyrus really couldn’t blame her.

A few hours of keen strategizing later, the box of not-legally-wine was nearly empty, and the trio was arrayed on the couch in much higher spirits than hitherto.

“What do we have so far?” The tip of Sans’ tail swished over the back of the couch. At some point after his third mug he’d decided sitting upside down was more comfortable.

Papyrus had already been kicked in the face twice. The middle cushion had seemed the optimal placement for friendship-cementing purposes, but the wine stains on his robes and the grime Sans’ taloned foot was no doubt leaving on his wing begged to differ.

On the other side of the couch, Alphys squinted at the napkin they’d used to record their ideas on. Shockingly, it was the only usable paper in the apartment. But then, Papyrus supposed, if anything about it was shocking it was the fact that Sans owned a napkin. It must have come with some long-ago pizza or burger. If Sans ever felt the urge to wipe his face clean he just used his sleeve. Or Papyrus’ sleeve.

Right. They were doing something important. Papyrus soldiered through the wine haze, leaning over to read the list over Alphys’ shoulder.

“First idea,” Papyrus said, cheered by the rather long list of ideas they’d compiled. “Ask Mettaton nicely to leave and say that Sans is doing a good job.” He grinned. “That was my idea!” Straight at the top of the list, as it ought to be.

“That sure is something Alphys wrote down for you,” Sans said, not sounding adequately supportive for some reason. Well, this was Sans’ emergency, after all, and he was fussy when under stress. Several half-eaten bags of junk food strewn about the room could attest to that. “What’s next?”

Papyrus cleared his throat. “Second idea: trick Mettaton into thinking he has won an award and must return to Hell immediately to accept it and give a speech in front of a large crowd of admirers.” Damn, that one was pretty good. Dishonest, yes, but undeniably clever. Were Papyrus in Mettaton’s place, he could possibly fall for such a cunning ruse.

Sans raised his head up to give a questioning glare at the napkin. “Since when do we have awards? Awards for what?”

That was a pertinent question. What would Hell find award-worthy? Setting a record for number of souls damned in one year? Brimstone-eating contest? Scariest face? Best cake-decorating skills?

“W-well,” Alphys said, shrugging so that three of her wings dug into Papyrus’ side, “Mettaton is v-very big on attention, s-so he might not s-stop to think about it.”

Sans made a vague humming sound, but said nothing. He let his head droop back over the edge of the cushion.

“I think it’s definitely the second-best idea so far.” Papyrus patted Alphys’ shoulder in encouragement. “Very creative.”

Alphys blushed, though it was hard to tell since she was already rather flushed from the wine. “Th-thanks.”

“Next,” Sans called from near the floor. He was slowly sliding off the couch, though he didn’t seem to notice or care.

“Next we have…stuffing Mettaton into a bag, weigh the bag down with rocks, and toss that, um…bastard,” Papyrus said, lowering his voice to a whisper momentarily, “into the ocean.”

“Heh. Yeah, that one was mine.” The sharp tip of Sans’ tail caught Papyrus across the neck as Sans slipped into a lazy heap on the floor.

Sighing, Papyrus reached down, grabbed hold of Sans by the tail, and hauled him back up. Really, he could try to be professional about this very productive tactical meeting that they were holding for his own benefit.

“He’d b-be awfully m-mad when he g-got out.” Alphys went so far as to write a question mark after Sans’ idea. “He d-doesn’t like his hair g-getting messed up.”

“Hair is stupid, and I stand by my plan.”

Papyrus fidgeted with his mug. There was very little liquid left in it, not for the first time. “I still think we lose nothing by talking to him in a straightforward manner. We’re all on the same side, after all!”

Sans and Alphys both turned to stare at him.

“What?” His brain caught up with his mouth. He blushed. “Oh! Well, of course, not literally the same side,” he said, feathers fluffing up in somewhat guilty embarrassment. “I was speaking metaphorically.”

The demons on either side of him shook their heads. Papyrus got the distinct impression that if Alphys were bolder or Sans right-side up, one of them would have patted him on the head. Well, he knew what he’d meant, even if his wording hadn’t been completely perfect.

Still, it was an unfortunate slip, wasn’t it? Good thing Undyne wasn’t around to hear it. Or to see him drinking (which he wasn’t technically supposed to do) with two demons (which he very extremely definitely wasn’t supposed to do). But now wasn’t the time for such high-concept conundrums. The Great Papyrus did not rest when a friend was in need. Even if that friend was being a pill.

“I don’t see what’s wrong with my idea.” A loose feather drifted through the air, and Papyrus crossed his arms in a huff. “Everything doesn’t have to be deception and violence, you know.”

Sans shrugged upside down and turned his meandering attention back to Alphys. Pill. “What else we got?”

“Um, we have d-distracting him with a series of m-mirrors,” Alphys said, “asking f-for his autograph, pro…proposing m-marriage.” She looked up from the napkin, expression grave. “I c-call not it on th-that one. There’s also, um…” She held the napkin closer to her lenses. “I th-think number s-seven is just a d-drawing of a pumpkin?”

“It’s a car,” Papyrus corrected primly. “And it encapsulated an excellent scheme to which I currently don’t…” He lost his train of thought. What was the car for? Damned if he could remember. Hmm.

Alphys yawned, showing pointy teeth. “Maybe it’s t-time for a break?”

“Maybe it’s time to admit my idea is the best one,” Papyrus shot back, but he was feeling more than a bit muzzy if he was being honest.

He felt a weight on his leg and looked down to find Sans snoring away. His mouth hung open and a small patch of drool was forming on Papyrus’ robes. Typical. Had he even heard the whole list? Alphys was engrossed in her phone, the list set aside on the arm of the couch.

Fine. The demons could have their break. Papyrus was made of sterner stuff and would continue working on his own. Someone had to take charge, and plainly neither of these layabouts were up to the task.

Sigh. He had to do everything around here, didn’t he?


End file.
